Time Lords and Chess Boards
by MichelleAppleby
Summary: The 11th Doctor and Amy land in 17th century Amsterdam during the Golden Age of Holland. But something's not right and the Doctor's nose leads him to an old enemy who's prepared a deadly little game especially for him...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Holland 1675:

The landscape was flat like the top of a giant green table, the sky was a brilliant blue and the tiny figure of a working man walked home across the immense flatness. His name was Jan, he was angry and tired, his muscles ached and, although he did not know it, he had less than twenty minutes to live.

Jan was a 'molenaar'—a man who worked one of the 'molen' or windmills in the region. Less than fifty years earlier, the land upon which Jan now walked used to be at the bottom of a lake. The Dutch built dykes and pumped the land dry using windmills, producing thousands of hectares of new farmland. But there was a price: The windmills had to keep pumping or the land would fill up whenever it rained, so men like Jan were hired to work the windmills. Without them, the whole region would drown.

But as Jan tramped along the dry track home he felt sorely unappreciated. Although he lived in the windmill rent free, he got paid a pittance in the rainy months and nothing at all in the summer. He had been up since dawn trudging from one farm to another looking for odd jobs and had found nothing. Worse, being a molenaar was seen as easy work—'sitting around waiting for it to rain' as one farmer put it—and most of the people had been rude about his situation. So when Jan's windmill came into view and he saw a figure standing in his front garden, he was in no mood to be polite.

'Hey! You there!' Jan crossed a ditch, his wooden clogs sounding hollow on the plank bridge. 'Yes, you!'

The figure in the garden turned and even from a distance Jan could see a sneer in the man's eyes. He was thin, dressed in black clothes with a white lace collar and a wide-brimmed black hat. As Jan approached, he saw that the man had sallow skin and wore the moustaches and goatee beard that were fashionable in the cities. In his hands was a heavy leather tube nearly a metre long.

'What are you doing at my windmill?' demanded Jan.

'_Your_ windmill?' said the man. 'Do you own it?'

'I'm responsible for it!'

'Then you'll appreciate how important it is.'

The man with the goatee took a cap off the tube and showed Jan the rolled up papers within.

'What are those?' asked Jan.

'Maps of every region surrounding Amsterdam,' said the man. 'Your windmill is part of a whole system that needs to work to keep the land dry.'

'I know that!'

'Then you'll know how important it is we inspect it.'

'We?'

For the first time Jan saw some colour in the other man's face. He suddenly realised why the other man was standing around in the garden—he was waiting for someone else.

'Is there somebody in my windmill right now?' said Jan. The other man had the grace to look uncomfortable. 'Of all the bloody cheek! That's my home!'

Jan turned and marched angrily towards the windmill.

'My master doesn't like being disturbed!' called the thin man.

'Too bad!' retorted Jan. 'Amsterdammers! Think they can tell everyone else what to do!'

He ripped open the door, ducked as he stepped through and closed it behind him with a bang.

Jan stood in a hallway that was cramped and dark after the bright open space outside. His first instinct was to call out, but he heard a sound that stopped him—the sound of splashing, churning water. Whenever it rained, Jan would turn the windmill into the wind and the sails would revolve, driving a giant Archimedes screw that channelled tons of water upwards from one cut ditch to another. At such times Jan would eat, sleep and dream to the sound of creaking wood and churning water. But the sails were now still and the wooden mechanisms were silent—so why could he hear the sound of churning water?

Jan made his way through the windmill, stooping to avoid cracking his head on the beams. He passed the wooden table and small fireplace of his living room to a back entryway where a trapdoor led down to the screw mechanism. The trapdoor was open.

Jan climbed down the steps—little more than a ladder—into a surprisingly large space beneath the windmill. The noise of the water was deafening and in the faint light a man stood with his back turned, watching the churning movement of the water. Jan looked at the giant wooden screw-it was completely still. How was that possible? What was making the water churn? Jan was so absorbed by the question that he jumped when the roar of the water suddenly stopped.

Jan held his breath, his heart pounding. The man still had his back to him, but he suddenly froze, his head slightly cocked, and then slowly, slowly he turned to face Jan. He wore similar clothes to the man in the garden—albeit of higher quality—and he sported similar moustaches and goatee, but he made the other man seem positively warm and friendly. This man's eyes were the coldest Jan had ever seen.

'You must be the molenaar,' said the stranger. His Dutch was precise, but he was not from Amsterdam.

'Yes, sir, I am!' said Jan, pulling himself together. 'And who are you?'

'It doesn't really matter who I am, does it?'

'What do you mean?'

'What does matter is this.' The stranger held up a small stick made of silver metal. 'This is a laser screwdriver. It can do all kinds of things and if I readjust it _so_, it will function as a tissue compressor.'

'What's that?' said Jan before he could stop himself. The stranger smiled as though hoping for that response.

'Allow me to demonstrate,' he said.

Outside in the garden, Cornelis Dekker was listening at the door. He knew it was not appropriate behaviour for a secretary to the Dijkgraaf (dyke-master) of Amsterdam and he blamed his employer. Cornelis was an educated man with qualifications in languages and accountancy, yet the dijkgraaf simply dragged him around the countryside inspecting windmills—which for Cornelis meant standing outside holding the bloody maps. When the rough-looking molenaar stormed into the windmill, Cornelis secretly hoped he would make a scene.

Then Cornelis heard a scream. He couldn't be sure—the wooden door was solid and the noise was faint—but the pounding of his heart seemed to tell him he was not mistaken. He stepped back and looked around. The landscape stretched away, flat in all directions with a few trees and distant buildings, but no people. Cornelis felt the urge to run to the carriage and ride away as fast as he could.

'Pull yourself together, man,' said Cornelis to himself. Then the windmill door opened and Cornelis jumped.

The black-clad figure of the dijkgraaf stepped out, his small wooden chest under his arm. He closed the door behind him and looked at Cornelis in a way that made the Dutchman feel his every thought was visible on his face.

'I'm sorry about that, sir,' Cornelis stammered.

'Sorry about what?'

'Letting the molenaar in. I know how you don't like to be disturbed in your work.'

'Oh, yes, the molenaar.' The dijkgraaf's fingers tapped idly against the small chest. 'Well, it would be convenient if it didn't happen again.'

The dijkgraaf walked away, heading for the spot where the horses and carriage were secured. He didn't seem to care one way or another. Cornelis glanced back at the windmill, now still and silent, and then he turned and followed his master.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The front of the house was beautiful with tall windows and a marble entrance. By contrast, the back of the house was a wall of plain brick with a few small windows for ventilation overlooking a compact stableyard that normally housed a pair of horses. Other houses looked down, keeping the yard in almost permanent shadow and blocking out most of the city noise.

In the peace, a sound began to grow—the groaning, screeching sound of an engine. Loose straw swirled over the cobblestones, disturbed by a wind that came from nowhere, and in their place materialised a rectangular blue police telephone box. The engine sound died and the straw settled on the ground. There was the creak of a door opening and the head and shoulders of a young man with dark hair popped out, looking up at the looming buildings with old eyes.

'Well, well,' said the Doctor.

He walked to the centre of the yard, stuck his hands in his pockets and stood looking around. A young woman with red hair stepped out of the police box, closed the door and went to join him.

'So, Doctor!' said Amy Pond. 'Where are we this time?'

'A yard of some sort,' said the Doctor.

'Yeah, I can see that. I mean: where, when and all that?'

'Amsterdam, according to the TARDIS.'

'Really? I was in Amsterdam once.'

'Hmm.' The Doctor wandered to the small stable and looked in.

'You know, Doctor, with a bit more effort you could sound _really_ disinterested!'

'Pardon?'

'Never mind. So when are we?'

'Sometime in August.'

The Doctor locked the TARDIS and walked across the yard to an alley. Amy rolled her eyes.

'Doctor! August _when_?'

'Between July and September.'

Amy wondered if the Doctor was being deliberately obtuse. It was hard to tell sometimes. Oh well, she thought, European history was never her strong subject—the year would probably mean nothing to her anyway. She hurried over to where the Doctor stood before a tall pair of iron gates.

'Locked?' asked Amy.

'Of course,' said the Doctor, his hand already reaching for the sonic screwdriver in his jacket. 'You wouldn't go on holiday and leave the place open, would you?'

'What makes you think they're on holiday?'

'August.' The Doctor activated the screwdriver and there was a loud click from the lock mechanism. 'People with a house like this would always have a summer home in the country. You don't want to be in Amsterdam in the summer, do you?'

'Why not?'

But the Doctor was already through the gate and walking through a short alleyway, returning the screwdriver to his pocket as he went. Why did he always have to walk so fast? Amy stepped through, closed the gate with a clang and went after the Doctor. She caught up with him and they stepped together into the street and the bright sunshine. The Doctor stopped, a huge smile on his face.

'Isn't it beautiful?' he said.

Amy looked around. Either side of a canal were stone paved streets and tall gabled houses against a clear blue sky. The houses were grand yet each in their own way—some were red stone, others grey and one was even pink. Everything was also charmingly wonky with uneven paving stones and buildings that seemed to lean in against one another.

And the people—it was as though they had stepped out of a Rembrandt painting. There were tradesmen pulling small carts, maids running errands and merchants dressed in black with goatee beards accompanied by a couple of servants. She and the Doctor attracted a few glances, but this seemed to be a place where people were very good at minding their own business.

'You know, I was here with Rory for a long weekend,' said Amy, 'and apart from the way people dress, this place hasn't changed all that much.'

'Hmm.'

'Mind you, we once took a wrong turn and ended up in the red light district. Now that was _bizarre_. Well, for this planet.'

'Hmm.'

'Am I boring you, Doctor?'

'I'm just wondering why the TARDIS brought us here.'

The Doctor walked off so briskly that it took Amy by surprise. She had to run to catch up. He was looking around, frowning, as though expecting to see something that shouldn't be there.'

'Doctor, wait!' said Amy. 'What do you mean the TARDIS brought us here?'

'The TARDIS and I have a telepathic link,' said the Doctor. 'Sometimes I can sense the controls wanting to be turned this way or that.'

'How often does that happen?'

The Doctor stopped dead and Amy nearly ran into him. He stood, staring at nothing, thinking about the number of times he had landed on Earth only to stumble upon alien invasions and whatnot. He blinked and looked at Amy.

'Quite often,' he said. 'The TARDIS knows how I feel about this planet. And its people.' He looked around at the humans going about their business. 'She's like a bloodhound, Amy, sniffing out disturbances in the Time Vortex.'

The Doctor straightened up and sniffed, loudly. Amy grimaced.

'Yeah, all right, Doctor. I don't need a demonstration.'

But the Doctor ran off, 'Sniff! Sniff! Sniff!' There was an arched bridge over the canal and the Doctor ran onto it and leant over the parapet. Amy could see his nostrils flare as he sniffed. People looked at him like he was mad. Amy cringed.

'Doctor! What are you doing?'

'Can't you smell it?'

'Smell what?'

'Exactly!'

'All right, now you've really lost me.'

The Doctor walked up to Amy and looked her in the eye. Amy knew that look and was a little afraid of it. The Doctor could be so quirky and silly that she'd forget there was another side to him—an implacable, dangerous side.

'Amy,' he said, 'why do you think rich people in Amsterdam spend their summers in the country?'

'I don't know.'

'Because when the weather is hot, the stench of the canals is unbelievable. Even if people weren't throwing their rubbish and sewage into them, the smell of the stagnant water alone would make you gag.'

'I don't remember that from my visit.'

'That's because the water was circulated.' The Doctor waved at the canal. 'Tons of water is regularly pumped through the system of canals to stop the water from getting stagnant. But Amy, that doesn't start happening until the second half of the twentieth century. We're now in the _seventeenth!_'

Amy stared at the Doctor. He held her gaze for a moment and then turned, his eyes searching the tall houses.

'Medieval Amsterdam was notorious for its stench,' he said. 'And someone here didn't like the smell.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Cornelis Dekker held tight to the side of the carriage and swallowed as the fields sped by. The dijkgraaf insisted on driving the horses and he liked to go fast. It was one of the few times Cornelis saw an expression on his master's face other than bored contempt. Cornelis was not sociable by nature, preferring account books to people, but the dijkgraaf seemed to positively loath them. Only once had he expressed any kind of regard for another person. The dijkgraaf had spent his first month in office inspecting the windmill pumps surrounding the city, after which the stagnant water smell improved considerably. Cornelis remarked how much people would appreciate his work.

'Nobody here has a clue,' said the dijkgraaf with scorn. 'There's only one man in the universe who is even capable of appreciating my work.'

'Would I know him?'

The dijkgraaf barked a short laugh and looked at Cornelis with amusement.

'Stick with me and I guarantee you'll meet him,' he said. 'Assuming you survive.'

As Cornelis sat in the carriage, he pondered those three words. His rational mind told him the dijkgraaf had meant Cornelis surviving the rigours of being his secretary. But there were moments when a cold tight feeling in his chest whispered something else. There was a glint in the dijkgraaf's eye as he whipped the horses that made Cornelis squirm. He glanced down at the small chest between his master's legs—a chest that never left the dijkgraaf's possession—and wondered for the hundredth time what was in it.

The row of windmills that marked the perimeter of Amsterdam city came into view—the first to have been inspected. It was only three months earlier, but to Cornelis it felt like a long time ago. A few minutes later, the carriage clattered past the great stone gatehouse of the Haarlemmerpoort and slowed as it approached the stables. It was their routine to leave the horses here and make their way into the city by foot. The narrow streets and the amount of people—often with carts and barrows full of goods—made taking a carriage into the city centre almost impossible. Even the Lord Mayor needed soldiers to clear the way first.

The dijkgraaf and Cornelis walked along the dyke in the shadow of tall gabled houses that faced an inland sea bustling with ships. Amsterdam was one of the great trading centres of the world and these ships were full of spices, silks, cotton, brandy-wine, spirits and a kind of bean that created a sensational new drink—coffee. Although Cornelis was essentially a pen-pusher, he felt a sort of pride at being part of this success story. The dijkgraaf walked ahead of him and barely seemed to notice.

After fifteen minutes of dodging carts and ignoring traders, the two men arrived at Dam Square which was the hub of the city and which was, as usual, crowded. At the quay, ships were unloading goods which then queued to be weighed at the 'Waag'—a chunky building with pointed turrets that stood on one side of the square. Overlooking the scene was a huge square building with windows and statues competing for space on the façade. This was where the dijkgraaf and Cornelis were headed.

A beggar stepped forward, a skinny pale dog at his side. 'Please, sir, my dog hasn't eaten for two days.'

They both walked past him without a glance, Cornelis gripping his map-tube to prevent it being stolen and coughing at the smell. He saw the dijkgraaf glance back, his face a mask of disgust. They walked through the main entrance, past militia guards who knew them by sight, and into the main hall. They crossed the marble floor and began to climb an impressive staircase that led to the offices upstairs. It was cool in the building with a few civil servants in place of the smelly crowds and both men seemed to breathe easier.

'Incredible,' muttered the dijkgraaf. 'This country has more water than it knows what to do with, but hardly anyone here knows what a bath is.'

Cornelis followed without saying a word. He knew that the dijkgraaf was thinking aloud; that he despised the thoughts of anyone else. Cornelis felt stung by this. Although he didn't like the dijkgraaf, he did respect him—the dijkgraaf was the most intelligent man he had ever met-but as they approached the dijkgraaf's office and he took out his keys, Cornelis wondered what it would take to be respected back.

A large man dressed in black and wearing a golden chain of office approached them. 'Dirk van Duivel!' he called out. 'I was hoping to bump into you!'

The dijkgraaf finished unlocking the door, seeming unaware that the large man was calling to him. Cornelis nodded in deference. 'Lord Mayor,' he said.

'Cornelis,' said the mayor, giving the slightest nod back. He turned to the dijkgraaf. 'What happened, Dirk? Did you forget your name?'

'My mind was elsewhere, your honour,' said the dijkgraaf.

'You're a busy man. I understand.'

'I knew you would.'

'Even so, I'd appreciate a private word.'

'Of course, whenever you like.'

'Right now would be convenient.'

It was clear by the dijkgraaf's expression that right now was not convenient at all. He gave a controlled nod.

'Very well, your honour. Give me a couple of minutes and I'll be…'

'No, right now as in right now.' The mayor's face was flabby, but his eyes were hard. 'I've been trying to catch up with you for a while—I'm not letting you go now.'

The dijkgraaf glared at the mayor and Cornelis wished he was somewhere else. No one ever challenged the dijkgraaf—something about him just warned you to tread carefully. There was a tense silence.

'As you wish, Lord Mayor,' said the dijkgraaf finally. He gestured for the mayor to lead the way.

'Are you taking that box with you?' said the mayor.

'Does it disturb you, your honour?'

'I don't know. What's in it, the city jewels?'

'Nothing like that, I assure you.'

'Then leave it with Cornelis. That's what a secretary is for, isn't it?'

Cornelis held his breath. Then, to his surprise, the dijkgraaf turned and handed him the small chest.

'Cornelis,' said the dijkgraaf smoothly. 'I'm sure you understand what's expected of you.'

Cornelis nodded, his mouth dry. The dijkgraaf turned back to the mayor, daring him to waste any more time. The mayor's look was stony, but he nodded and the two men walked away, down the corridor that led to the mayor's private office.

Cornelis watched them disappear and then looked down at the small chest—in his hands for the first time ever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

'Oh … my … God!'

Amy and the Doctor had been walking along canals and crossing small bridges amid the bustle and life of a thriving city. Horses pulled barges full of goods which were unloaded in front of four storey warehouses that seemed to lean in towards the water. The walls of many houses were painted with a layer of protective tar which was melting in the summer heat, its burnt odour mixing with the smell of horse manure. Amy looked around and laughed in delight, but when they went through a narrow alley and arrived on the dyke, her mouth dropped open.

Before her lay an inland sea in which literally hundreds of ships jostled for a place. In every direction she saw immense three-mast galleons rubbing against two-mast frigates while rowboats and sailboats dodged between them like fish dodging whales. The Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled.

'Welcome to the Golden Age of Holland,' he said.

'It's incredible!' said Amy.

'Yes. You know, at this time in your history, the Dutch have more ships than any nation on the planet. Amazing, for such a small country.'

'Are they warships?'

'Merchant ships, mostly. Have you heard of the East India Company?'

'Yes!' said Amy defensively. She wasn't _that_ ignorant.

'The world's first ever multi-national company. It was so rich it could afford its own army.' The Doctor gave her a pat on the arm. 'Come on.'

The Doctor led Amy along the dyke, nodding and smiling at the sailors and traders they passed. Amy was wearing a skirt and boots and her bare legs were getting a lot of attention.

'Doctor, I don't think I'm dressed for this period.'

'It's Amsterdam!' said the Doctor. 'Anything goes here!'

'Maybe in my day. I'm not so sure now.'

They continued to walk towards the heart of the city until they reached a huge square packed with people and activity, like a market with the stalls taken away and replaced by carts.

'I know this place!' said Amy. 'It's Dam Square! And that building over there, I remember it from my holiday! It hasn't changed!'

'Yes,' said the Doctor. 'Still ugly.'

'That's the royal palace, Doctor,' said Amy smugly. Finally, she recognised something that didn't need to be explained to her by the know-all Time Lord.

'No, it's not.'

'Doctor, I'm telling you, that's one part of the guide book I remember. The Queen of Holland lives there!'

'No, she doesn't.'

'Well, obviously not the same queen as mine, but her great-great-great- grandmother or something.'

'Amy, the Netherlands right now is a republic. They don't install a royal family until 1811.'

The Doctor began to push his way forwards, heading towards the disputed building. Amy had the sinking feeling he was right—a feeling becoming ever more familiar as she travelled with him. She sighed and made her way after him.

'All right, Doctor,' said Amy, as they found a little space in the crowd. 'So if it's not the royal palace, what is it?'

'The town hall.'

'And why are we going there?'

The Doctor looked at her, frowning. He clearly didn't understand why she didn't understand.

'Someone is using technology that doesn't exist yet,' he said.

'We don't actually know that, do we? I mean, the only evidence we got is a smell that isn't there.'

'Don't underestimate _this,_' said the Doctor, tapping the side of his nose. 'You'd be surprised how … good gracious!'

A sudden stink enveloped the Doctor and Amy. Before them stood a beggar next to a pale, skinny dog.

'Please, sir,' said the beggar, holding out a filthy hand. 'My dog hasn't eaten for two days.'

'Then feed him,' said the Doctor and he continued on towards the town hall entrance, shaking his head in confusion. Amy gave the beggar a guilty smile.

'Sorry about that,' she said. 'He doesn't get money.'

'Haven't you got a penny, pretty lady?'

'Well, yes, but…'

Amy saw instantly that she had made a mistake. The look of hope on the man's face was heart-breaking, but all she had on her were a few pennies that were (a) British and (b) from the future. They were stamped with the head of a queen that wouldn't be born for another 250 years. Amy opened her hands and backed away.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm sorry.'

At the base of the town hall, the great central doors were open and two militia guards stood nearby chatting. The Doctor walked up to them, his hand in his inside jacket pocket.

'Excuse me, gentlemen,' he said. 'I have an appointment.'

'Fine,' said one guard and nodded for the Doctor to go in.

The Doctor was holding his wallet with the psychic paper. He put it away unopened and said, 'Thank you!'

'Is your prostitute going with you?' said the guard.

'My what?'

The guard nodded in the direction of Amy. She pushed past a couple of sailors and ran up to join them, glaring at the Doctor.

'Thanks for waiting,' she growled.

She looked at the two guards. They looked back with identical weird smiles on their faces.

'What?' she said.

'We can go in,' said the Doctor.

'Yeah,' said the guard. 'Have fun.'

As Amy followed the Doctor, she heard the guards laughing.

'What was that about?' said Amy.

'You're the human,' said the Doctor. 'You tell me.'

It was pleasantly cool after the heat outside. The Doctor and Amy found themselves in a huge space with a shiny marble floor and statues adorning the walls. Doorways and corridors led off to the left and the right and ahead of them was an impressive staircase that led to the upper floors. Men dressed in black with white lace collars and goatee beards carried rolls of documents, their footsteps echoing off the cathedral-like ceiling upon which were painted clouds and cherubs.

'Bit much for a town hall, isn't it?' said Amy.

'What's the point of being rich if you can't show off?'

'So why are we here, Doctor?'

'Amsterdam at this time is a city state run by the city council. Every important decision concerning the city is made in this building. There's a good chance that somebody here knows something.'

'But who?'

'What about _him?_'

The Doctor's voice was loud enough that several heads turned and one civil servant looked alarmed when he saw that the Doctor was pointing at him. He tried to walk away, but the Doctor caught him up and leapt in front.

'Hellooo!' he said.

'Can I help you, sir?' said the civil servant, cringing.

The Doctor was taller, which wasn't saying much, but it made the civil servant nervous. Amy frowned as she wandered over to join them, making a mental note to have a word with the Doctor later about his approach.

'I'm looking for the person responsible for the water in the canals,' said the Doctor.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Look, if the water's too high it'll flood the city and if it's too low the boats can't get through. It's got to be just right.'

'You're talking about Water Management.'

'I suppose.' The Doctor looked at Amy and shrugged.

'Well,' said the civil servant. 'The person responsible for that is the dijkgraaf.'


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Jan-Willem van Os had a proud lineage: Both his father and his grandfather had been Lord Mayor of Amsterdam and his grandfather and grand-uncle were founder members of the East India Company. He had grown up in a world of fortune-building and power politics, so it was perhaps inevitable that he would become Lord Mayor himself. The increase in England's naval power was making it more difficult to make fortunes via shipping, but even by the standards of the time, the mayor was an extremely wealthy man.

His office was the largest in the town hall with the light of three tall windows spilling across the black and white tiled floor. His desk and chairs were made of the finest carved oak and the paintings on the wall were original oils. The mayor was proud of his fine taste and, as he showed the dijkgraaf in, he was expecting some kind of reaction or compliment. The dijkgraaf didn't even look. The mayor pushed his disappointment aside.

'Please, take a seat,' he said, waving to a chair facing his desk.

'Lord Mayor,' said the dijkgraaf, without sitting. 'What is it you want?'

'Just an informal chat.'

'A chat.' The dijkgraaf looked as though the word tasted like a lemon. 'Is it about tonight's shareholder's meeting?'

The mayor's eyes hardened.

'The shareholder's meeting is being held next week at East India House,' he said. 'Tonight is an informal dinner at my house with friends.'

'Who, by strange coincidence, are all key shareholders. Correct?'

'No,' said the mayor. 'It's not a coincidence at all.'

The mayor and the dijkgraaf stared at each other like two black dogs about to fight—one a massive Rottweiler, the other a lean Doberman. After a few moments, the dijkgraaf smiled.

'All right, Lord Mayor,' he said. 'I'll play.'

The dijkgraaf sat on the chair the mayor had offered, crossing one leg over the other. He looked up, his head cocked to one side, mocking, challenging. The mayor's expression darkened.

'You're forget who I am,' he said.

'Don't be so pompous!' said the dijkgraaf, putting his hands behind his head. 'This is about money, isn't it?'

'Of course. And the power that comes with it.'

'Absolutely! Let's not forget about power!'

'You're familiar with it?'

'You could say I'm a master.'

That should have sounded arrogant and absurd, thought the mayor. It should have, but it didn't. This meeting was not going the way he would have liked. He decided to come to the point.

'I'd like some advice,' said the mayor.

'From me?'

'Yes.'

'About what?'

'As I'm sure you know, the company is planning to send twenty ships to our colonies in Sumatra and Indochina before the end of next month. I want your advice on which ships to invest in.'

The dijkgraaf laughed. 'What makes you think I know anything about ships?'

'You've made investments yourself. Profitable ones.'

'Small potatoes. Especially compared to the fortunes you and your 'friends' make.'

'Yes, but that's not the point, is it?'

'You have a point?'

The dijkgraaf's eyes were mocking. The mayor looked at him a moment and then went across to a painting on the wall. It depicted a storm—three great sailing ships being tossed by huge waves. The mayor sighed.

'You know, not every ship that leaves Amsterdam makes it back. Some are lost at sea; others are captured by pirates or enemy ships.'

'Occupational hazard,' said the dijkgraaf, looking at his fingernails.

'Indeed,' said the mayor. 'That's why we merchants make deals with each other, spreading our investment over five or six ships. Everyone loses a ship every now and then, but we're unlikely to lose six.'

'Very clever.'

'You think so?' The mayor went across to his desk and referred to some papers. 'I've been going through the East India Company records for the past three years and there is one investor who works a different strategy. He works alone, every few months making an investment on one ship and one ship only. Now, this should be a recipe for disaster, but it never is. He always makes a profit and this profit is amazingly regular—large enough to be interesting, but not large enough to attract attention. And, in all that time, he has never lost a ship. Not once. Tell me, dijkgraaf, do you know who this investor is?'

The dijkgraaf still stared at his fingernails, but he was no longer looking at them. The mayor took his seat behind his great oaken desk and reached for a document, pretending to read it as the silence stretched. The dijkgraaf looked up, his smile gone, his impatience growing. Finally, he spoke:

'So I've been lucky. So what?'

'Don't insult my intelligence, sir,' said the mayor. 'I've been in this business a long time and I know the difference between guesswork and foreknowledge.'

'Are you serious?'

'Yes. To always bet on one ship is a fool's game and you are far too intelligent to be so stupid. You _know_ which ships are going to make it back. I don't know how, but you do.'

The mayor looked at the dijkgraaf with sharp eyes in a pouched face. The dijkgraaf looked back and slowly nodded, the way a chess player does when their opponent has made a good move. He gave a short laugh.

'You know, Lord Mayor,' said the dijkgraaf. 'You look more impressive when you're sitting. Being so fat, you look sort of ridiculous when you're standing or waddling around, but sat behind that desk—I have to admit—you actually look like an intelligent man.'

'And you, sir, are a very bad loser.'

The dijkgraaf leaned forwards.

'Oh, you have no idea.'


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

In the dijkgraaf's office, Cornelis looked down at the small wooden chest in frustration. He had spotted a small knife for trimming candles on the desk and had used it to try and pry the lid open. Then he had tried a few small keys on his own key chain. The lock didn't budge. Cornelis picked the chest up, held it to his ear and gave it a gentle shake.

There was a knock at the door.

Cornelis jumped. Heart thumping, he put the chest on the floor, grabbed his map tube and began shaking its contents out onto the desk.

'Er … come in!' he said, trying to sound official.

The door opened and a man and a woman entered—clearly foreigners by the way they dressed. The man wore a reddish butterfly thing under his chin and the woman … well, she was probably a prostitute.

'Hello there!' said the man. 'So _you're_ in charge of the city's water pumps!'

'I beg your pardon?'

The woman interrupted. 'Water pumps? Doctor, I thought you said…?'

'Windmills, Amy. Most of the windmills in the Netherlands are not 'mills' at all, but water pumps. The sails are connected to a giant … um…'

'…Archimedes screw,' said Cornelis.

'Yes, one of those!' said the man. 'And when the sails turn, the screw turns, drawing the water _upwards._ It's very clever.'

'You know something of windmill technology?' said Cornelis.

'Windmill Technology! What a delightful phrase!'

The man with the butterfly thing beamed like a child with a new toy. Cornelis shook his head like a cat bothered by a fly.

'I'm sorry, sir,' he said. 'But who are you?'

'I'm the Doctor,' said the Doctor. 'And this is Amy.'

'Hello,' said Amy.

'And you are?'

'Cornelis Dekker, sir. Secretary to the Dijkgraaf of Amsterdam.'

'An honour to meet you, sir!' The Doctor grabbed the bemused Dutchman's hand and shook it with enthusiasm.

'Nice office for a secretary,' said Amy, looking around.

Cornelis suddenly realised that he was entertaining uninvited strangers in his master's private office. He went pale and pulled his hand back.

'It's not my office,' he said. 'It's the dijkgraaf's and he doesn't appreciate unscheduled visitors. Perhaps we could continue this conversation elsewhere?'

'Well, actually it's the dijkgraaf I want to see,' said the Doctor.

'The dijkgraaf doesn't 'see' people. Ever.'

'Oh, come on. What if I ask nicely?'

'He's in a meeting with the mayor!'

'So he _does_ see people!'

'Yes, but…'

'Doctor,' said Amy, putting her hand on the Doctor's arm. 'I think we should do as he asks.'

The Doctor frowned at her tone and looked again at Cornelis. He was clearly the bureaucratic type—thin face, humourless mouth, someone who enforces petty rules but who probably breaks them in private. But he was gripping the heavy map tube as though his life depended on it. He was scared.

'All right, Cornelis,' said the Doctor quietly. 'Let's continue this chat somewhere else.'

Cornelis nodded stiffly, resisting the temptation to say thank you. He knew if he did, his gratitude would show and he wanted to remain aloof, official. But his hand shook as he replaced the cap on the map tube.

'This way, please,' said Cornelis hurriedly and he led them out of the office. As he led the way through the corridors, Amy edged nearer the Doctor.

'Our friend there didn't lock the door,' she muttered.

'I imagine the dijkgraaf has the only key,' said the Doctor. 'Wonder what's on those maps.'

'I hear you.'

She wasn't the only one. Cornelis looked over his shoulder, his mouth tight with disapproval. The Doctor smiled.

'We were just commenting on the canals,' he said as the three of them made their way down some back stairs.

'Oh yes?'

'Yes, Cornelis. The last time I was in Amsterdam, they stank to high heaven.'

'Ah, yes, the stink. Well, we resolved that issue three months ago.'

'How?'

Cornelis opened his mouth ready to launch into a proud explanation. Then he frowned.

'I don't know,' he said.

They arrived at a poky office with three desks, shelves stacked with paperwork and one small window. The floor was wooden and the chairs looked rickety.

'Your office?' said the Doctor.

'Yes!' said Cornelis, offended by the hint of pity in the Doctor's tone. 'My colleagues are not here, so you may use the chairs.'

'Actually,' said Amy, standing in the doorway, 'I want to use the bathroom.'

Cornelis was shocked.

'You want to take a bath? In the _town hall_?'

'No! I want to, you know … "powder my nose"?'

Cornelis looked blank. Amy looked anxiously at the Doctor.

'She wants to urinate,' said the Doctor.

Amy and Cornelis looked at the Doctor with identical expressions of horror.

'You do _not_ say it like that!' said Amy. 'Tell him, Cornelis!'

And Amy disappeared. The two men stood in awkward silence. Eventually, Cornelis coughed.

'Perhaps, Doctor, you could explain your business here?' he said.

Retracing her steps up the stairs and through the corridors, Amy muttered to herself. 'Unbelievable. Unbelievable!' She glowered at every civil servant she passed except for the short one they'd met in the main hall—he saw her coming and ducked into an office. Finally, she arrived at the dark paneled door with a black iron handle. She knocked, just in case. No answer. She took a deep breath and went in.

The office was as they had left it—the rolled up maps were still on the desk. Amy carefully closed the door and went over to look at them. They were hand-drawn using India ink, detailed and beautiful. It showed land divided into thin rectangles and along one side a dyke ran next to a river. Little windmills were drawn along the dyke and there was a village with the name 'Schermerhoorn' next to it in a flowing italic script.

Amy unrolled a smaller, thicker sheet of paper. It was a sketched copy of the India ink map with only circles for the windmills. Some of those circles were crossed out. There was also an arrow pointing at a bend in the dyke with the letters 'Z.P.' next to it. Were they initials of someone's name?

'Hmm.'

Amy looked around the rest of the office. Sunlight entered through one large window and bounced off a floor tiled white with little black squares. Apart from the desk there was a small fireplace, a set of shelves loaded with books and a tall cupboard with carved wooden doors. She went over to the tall cupboard and looked inside. A black coat and a wide-brimmed hat hung on pegs screwed into the side panel, but aside from that it was empty. Amy looked back and saw something she'd missed.

Under the desk was a small wooden chest. Amy went across, lifted it on the desktop and tried to open it. It was locked. She looked under the maps and on the nearby shelf for a key, but there wasn't one. She paused a moment and then took out a hairpin.

'It works in the movies,' she muttered.

Suddenly, she froze. Two men were walking in the corridor outside—she could hear their voices. She stayed absolutely still, praying for them to pass.

The door opened.

Amy stifled a gasp, her heart racing. The door was only open a crack—one of the men had been coming in and was stopped by the other. She heard a rough voice.

'Oh, and this conversation never happened.'

Amy had seconds before someone walked in. She ran on tiptoe to the tall cupboard and stepped in, carefully closing the door. It was dark inside and she felt the coat behind her. If she accidentally knocked the hat off its peg she would be given away. Gingerly, she reached for the back wall of the cupboard, intending to move along it. Her hand reached and reached, expecting to feel a wooden surface at any moment, but there was only air and Amy lost her balance and tumbled sideways onto the floor.

She landed on a metal walkway with a dull clang; through the heavy grill she could see tubes and wires. She sat up and looked back. Had she just fallen _through_ the back of the cupboard? It looked like it—she saw the inside of the double doors, the wooden sides and the coat and hat on their peg. But it was an entryway to a much bigger space—a space both strange and yet familiar. Amy stood and slowly turned.

It felt like an underwater cavern. Black walls curved upwards, marked with hexagons that glowed a faint green. Coral-like pillars twisted upwards to support the walls. Amy walked slowly along the sloping metal walkway that led to a central console. The console was hexagonal and crammed with strange levers, buttons, panels and symbols, all glowing a faint green against the black. From the centre of the console rose a luminous column that reached the ceiling. Amy gazed at her surroundings.

'Oh, my God,' she said. 'It's a TARDIS.'


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Sitting in the mayor's office, the Master looked at the fat man behind his desk and wondered why he didn't just kill him. Anyone with both a goatee beard _and_ a double chin deserved to die, he thought. The laser screwdriver was already set on 'tissue compression'—all he had to do was point it, press the button and the mayor would be crushed into a doll-sized corpse that could be stuffed into one of his own cabinet drawers. It would be easy.

Too easy. That was the problem. It was like childishly sweeping the pieces off a chessboard because your opponent was beating you; a situation the Master couldn't abide. He found it much more satisfying to destroy his opponents slowly, taking off piece after piece, until there was only a king left on the board. And then to kill them.

'So, Lord Mayor,' said the Master. 'What do you want?'

The mayor had a document in his hand. He held it out and the Master took it. It was a list names—the names of ships.

'I take it these are the merchant ships due to go to the East Indies?' said the Master.

'Yes. Any suggestions on which ones are, how shall I put it… reliable?'

'I'll let you know.' The Master began to roll up the document.

'That list can't leave this room,' said the mayor.

'You'll get it back.'

The Master finished rolling the document and stood.

'I'll walk you to your office,' said the mayor, also standing. The Master tried not to show his impatience. As they walked the corridor leading to the dijkgraaf's office, the mayor continued talking.

'We haven't yet discussed what you want out of this.'

'I'm sure we'll come to some arrangement,' said the Master.

'That's very trusting of you, sir.'

The Master resisted a scornful laugh. They approached the door to his office and the Master reached out for the handle.

'I tell you what,' said the mayor. 'Why don't you join us for dinner tonight? I'm sure we'd find your advice most helpful … and you would find us most appreciative.'

The Master looked at the mayor. If this fat man really trusted him, the Master could bankrupt him within a few weeks. It might be an amusing side project to pass the time.

'At what hour?' said the Master, smiling.

'Eight,' said the mayor. 'At my house.'

'I'll be there.'

The Master opened the door.

'Oh, and this conversation never happened,' said the mayor.

'What conversation was that?' said the Master.

The mayor chuckled. He walked away, shaking his head. I'll see you crawl in the dirt, thought the Master as he watched the mayor go. He closed the door, took out his keys and locked it. Finally, he was alone.

The Master stood with his back to the door and the first thing he saw was the mess on his desk. Cornelis had dumped the maps and the chest and had gone. Fool. The Master went across and took a close look at the metal lock on the chest. Yes, there were a couple of scratches—his secretary had tried to open it, no doubt. The Master tapped his chin with the rolled up document, pondering, and then picked up the chest and walked over to his TARDIS. He stepped into the cupboard, through the 'back wall' hologram and stopped dead.

At the top of the sloping walkway, staring at the console, stood a girl. She seemed mesmerised by what she saw and her hand reached out to touch one of the controls. The Master smiled, taking care to keep still.

The moment Amy's fingers touched a dial there was a flash and a sheet of yellow lightning ripped across that half of the console. Amy was hurled backwards, landing with a crash halfway down the sloping walkway. She cried out, rolling to one side and curling up around her right hand. The Master could hear shallow, sobbing breaths as she lay on the metal grill.

'Ionic force shield,' said the Master, his boots clanging on the metal as he walked past Amy. She spun into a sitting position, her eyes following him from behind a curtain of hair, her hand hugged close to her chest. 'Judging by your clothes, you know what a motor car is, yes?' said the Master as he went over to a neatly stacked row of plastic crates near the wall. 'Well, you can think of an ionic force shield as a sort of steering lock. Just as a steering lock makes it more difficult to steal a motor car, an ionic force shield makes it impossible to…'

'I get it!'

The Master put the small chest on top of a large ice box and turned, his face shaded green in the near darkness. The girl was on her feet, unsteady and still nursing her hand, but with defiance in her eyes. He smiled. It was so much more fun when they were defiant.

'So tell me, young lady,' said the Master. 'What are you doing in my TARDIS?'

'Your what?'

The Master laughed. He walked casually towards the girl, looking at her with his head tilted to one side, tapping his neck with the rolled up document.

'All right,' he said. 'Before you open your mouth again, I want you to listen carefully. You need to understand what I'm about to say because your life depends on it. Are we clear on that?'

Amy swallowed. Something about this man told her he was not fooling around. She nodded her understanding.

In the poky downstairs office, a large map of Amsterdam was spread across two of the desks. The Doctor's hands pointed and swept across the map as he talked while Cornelis looked on with eyes wide and mind buzzing.

'So you see the problem?' said the Doctor. 'At least thirty thousand tonnes of water has to be pumped through _this_ network of canals. Realistically, you need twenty more windmills to make that work.'

'But the dijkgraaf _has_ made it work!' said Cornelis.

'I know! That's what bothers me.' The Doctor threw himself into a chair, rocking it to and fro and rubbing his chin. 'Cornelis, the way you've described the dijkgraaf, I have this picture of an intimidating man with not many friends.'

'With no friends, I would have said.'

'But I thought city councillors were elected?'

'They are.'

'So how does someone with no friends or supporters win an election?'

'Well, he didn't,' said Cornelis. 'Technically speaking, he's a temporary dijkgraaf. He stepped in when the elected dijkgraaf, erm … disappeared.'

The Doctor's chair came down with a whack. Cornelis found himself the subject of an intense, quietly angry stare.

'The original dijkgraaf disappeared?' said the Doctor. 'As in: Vanished?'

Cornelis nodded. He couldn't bring himself to speak.

'Wasn't there an investigation?' said the Doctor.

'Of course there was!' said Cornelis. 'And they found that a lot of money had been taken from city hall. The conclusion was that the dijkgraaf had stolen the money and fled to England.'

'Do you believe that, Cornelis?'

'I'm just a civil servant, Doctor. It's not my place to say one way or the other.'

The Doctor said nothing, but the way he looked at Cornelis made him regret opening his mouth. He was used to the looks of contempt from the likes of the mayor or the dijkgraaf—they were that way with everyone—but the Doctor made Cornelis feel contempt for himself. He could not look the Doctor in the eye and he turned away to face the door. His mouth dropped open in shock.

'Doctor, look!'

The door had silently opened to reveal Amy. The Doctor leapt up and went over to her, holding her shoulders. She was pale and fighting back tears by willpower alone.

'Amy?' said the Doctor. 'What happened?'


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The ballroom boasted three impressive crystal chandeliers in a room that could comfortably accommodate eight hundred people, but today there was only one man standing on the black and white chequered floor. Dressed in black, he looked like a lone piece on a giant chessboard as he stood and admired the paintings on the high ceiling. Tall white doors decorated in gold opened behind him and another figure strode in, an awkward-looking man with thin wrists and ankles and a mass of dark hair. The man in black turned and smiled. He had never set eyes on the other man before—and yet he would have known him anywhere.

'Why, Doctor! You've regenerated!'

'And you've grown back that rubbish beard.'

'Always the charmer. I see the bow tie has made a comeback.' The Master looked over at the girl standing near the double doors. 'Close them, would you?' he said.

Amy looked at the Doctor. He gave a curt nod. She closed the tall doors with shaking hands and looked back at the two men. They were circling each other with measured steps like duellists looking for the kill. She decided to stay near the doors.

'The last time I saw you,' said the Master, 'we were standing shoulder to shoulder, fighting back the rise of Gallifrey.'

'That's an interesting version of events,' said the Doctor. 'What happened?'

'I saved your life, as I recall.'

'I mean, what happened _afterwards? _When I came to, you'd disappeared.'

The Master paused in his steps, looking up at one of the chandeliers. 'It's a long story,' he said.

'Fine,' said the Doctor, also stopping. 'Then let's talk about what you're doing in 17th century Holland.'

'Tut, tut, Doctor! The Dutch would roast you for that! What you call 'Holland' is in fact the Republic of the Seven Provinces of the Netherlands, founded exactly one hundred years ago by William of Orange.'

'Happy Anniversary. Do you have something special planned?'

'Of course! Here, come take a look at this. And get your little friend to join us.'

'The little friend has a name,' muttered Amy. She crossed the ballroom and joined them, staying close to the Doctor. The Master led them to a section of floor that displayed a magnificent map of Europe made of hand-painted ceramic tiles. There were ships and sea serpents in the ocean and the countries' names were written in a beautiful copperhead script.

'Very nice!' said the Doctor. 'And you did this all by yourself?'

'Don't push your luck, Doctor,' said the Master. He pointed down at the map. 'The country in red is the Netherlands, a tiny little place, but stupendously rich. And surrounding it are France, Spain, the Germanic provinces and England—great big countries who would love to get their hands on all that wealth. Now … what would happen if this tiny little country had a great big catastrophe?'

'What kind of catastrophe?' said Amy.

The Master looked across at the Doctor, inviting him to work it out.

'Floods,' said the Doctor. 'One third of this country lies below sea level. A system of dykes and windmills has to work to keep the water out.'

'And the person responsible for maintaining that system,' said the Master to Amy, 'is the dijkgraaf. Me.'

'That's only because you killed the previous dijkgraaf,' said the Doctor.

'Of course. Who'd want to go through that whole election rigmarole?'

'It didn't bother you as Harold Saxon.'

'That was different.'

Amy looked from the Doctor to the Master and back. They were talking about the murder of a man as casually as if discussing an old football match. The Doctor hadn't even glanced away from the map.

'A nationwide flood would bring the Netherlands to its knees,' said the Doctor. 'And with all that wealth, _those_ other countries would tear it apart.'

'Not necessarily, Doctor.' The Master slowly walked around the perimeter of the map. 'Haven't you always maintained that the people of this planet are a noble species, capable of helping each other? In theory, this will give them the chance to prove it.'

'You'd destroy thousands of lives to test a theory?'

'It's a game, Doctor! A cosmic chess game played with real live pieces!'

'Human beings are not chess pieces!' burst out Amy.

'You are to us,' said the Master. 'We're not called Time _Lords_ for nothing. Humans are to us what animals are to you. In your century, you destroy _millions_ of animals to test your theories. Isn't that right, Doctor?'

Amy stared at the Doctor, waiting for him to respond. But the Doctor said nothing. He just stood and stared at the map on the floor. The Master raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, 'You see?'

'It's not a bad plan,' said the Doctor. 'More low key than your usual world domination schemes, but there's a certain elegance to that.'

'Glad you appreciate it,' said the Master.

'You're welcome.'

'Doctor! Stop!' Amy was distraught, her hands grabbing her hair. 'The Master's talking about mass destruction and you're giving him marks out of ten!'

The Doctor sighed. He looked at the Master. 'She doesn't understand,' he said.

'I know how she feels,' said the Master, his eyes narrowed.

The Doctor looked surprised. He shrugged and turned to Amy. 'All right, Amy,' he said. 'Let me explain. The Master doesn't care about the people on this planet. But he knows that I _do_ care. In fact, I think he's counting on it.'

'For what?' said the Master.

'To play your little game. You see, Amy, the Master and I go back a long way and we have had a lot of games of what you might call 'cosmic chess.' And every time we play, I keep winning. It drives him nuts!'

The Master's mouth tightened and his eyes seemed to go very black.

'See what I mean?' said the Doctor. 'But what he doesn't yet understand is that I have finally reached the point where I actually agree with him.'

'What?!' said Amy and the Master in unison. They stared at the Doctor with identical expressions of disbelief.

'He's bluffing,' said the Master to Amy.

'Am I?'

The Doctor walked onto the map and looked down at the world beneath his feet. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together as his sharp eyes took in the details, one country after another.

'All right, 1675,' he said. 'Next year, the Dutch will be fighting the English. A couple of years later, the English and the Dutch will be fighting the French. The Spanish _would_ be fighting the French and the English except they're still too busy exterminating the people of South America, while British settlers are doing the same to the people of North America. Basically, the people of Europe are grabbing bits of the world and fighting over it and on this little island of Corsica _here_ will be born a human called Napoleon who will take war to a whole new level.'

The Doctor paused in his commentary and looked at Amy.

'And this is just the beginning,' he said to her. 'This will lead to more bloodshed and murder than this planet has ever seen. Tell me, Amy … do you really think the Master can do any more damage than Adolf Hitler?'

'You know me,' said the Master icily. 'I enjoy a challenge.'

'Rubbish,' said the Doctor. 'If that were true, you wouldn't pick on cultures whose technology is so inferior to ours. But that's not what sickens me about this.'

The Doctor turned and walked across to Amy. She went pale at the look on his face—he was furious in that quiet, awful way of his.

'What _really_ sickens me is you humans,' he said. 'There are humans in this building who _know_ there's something fishy about their new dijkgraaf; who even suspect that he's killed people. But because everyone is making so much money, nobody does a thing! This age is full of people who are only interested in conquest and power and money. Amy, why should I risk my life for people like that? They deserve the Master!'

The Doctor turned on his heel and walked away, heading for the doors. For a moment, Amy was stunned and then she ran after him, her anger bursting forth.

'Nobody deserves what he does to them!'

The Doctor turned at the doors and Amy marched up to him, getting right in his face.

'He showed me, Doctor! The Master showed me what he does to the people he kills!' A sob escaped and her voice began to crack. 'He even keeps them in an ice box,' she said. 'So that they don't start to smell. It's horrible!'

The Doctor grabbed Amy's arms and looked right into her face. She gasped in pain. His fingers dug into her muscles and there was not an atom of sympathy in his eyes.

'Untimely death is always horrible, Amelia Pond,' he said with deadly quiet. 'That's why it is a thing to be avoided.'

The Doctor opened the door and shoved her through. She stumbled into the hallway outside and heard the door slam shut behind her. She was shocked and confused and seconds away from bursting into tears, but before she could move, the Doctor took her face in his hands. How different those hands were now—gentle and soft and kind—and how different his eyes. His look was full of concern and tenderness and there was also a sense of urgency. The Doctor opened his mouth and said one word:

'Run.'


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The sound of the door slamming reverberated around the ballroom and died away to nothing. The Master stood on the chequered floor thinking about what he had just witnessed. This new incarnation of the Doctor had taken him by surprise. At first, he had been predictable enough—all childish taunts and sentimental moralising. But then he turned on the girl and things had got a whole lot more interesting.

He had been cruel. In the past, the Doctor was bossy and patronising to his human companions—the Master had seen it—but actively cruel? In the space of a minute, the Doctor had reduced the girl to an emotional wreck. It had been fascinating to watch! There had been occasions when the Master felt regret that he and the Doctor could never work together, but with this incarnation maybe there were possibilities. The Master smiled to himself.

A nagging thought intruded: 'You are alone in the ballroom.' The Master pushed it away, intent on his reverie. But the thought was stubborn: 'You are alone in the ballroom.'

'What of it?' said the Master.

'Well,' said the nagging thought. 'When did you decide that your plan was to let the Doctor and the girl _just_ _walk out of here?_'

The Master's smile vanished.

He ran to the double doors and ripped them open. The hallway outside was empty, of course. He ran until he arrived at the top of the staircase that led down to the main hall. The Master had a view over the main entrance and surrounding doorways to the rest of the building, but all he saw were the figures in black going about their business. By now, the Doctor and the girl were probably running across Dam Square.

The Master moved quickly along the gallery and into the corridor that led to his office, taking his keys out as he went. He unlocked his office door, went to his TARDIS and unlocked that too, almost breaking the key in his impatience. He flung open the door and strode in, feet pounding on the metal, up to the console. Taking care not to touch the sections protected by the force shield, the Master went around to the computer and proceeded to press buttons and flick switches.

Scanning the city for alien technology, the Doctor's TARDIS appeared on screen almost immediately. The Master shook his head as he determined its location. Every TARDIS was equipped with a cloaking device to prevent this basic kind of detection; it was typical of the Doctor not to use it.

'Sloppy, Doctor. Very sloppy.'

The Master fine-tuned the sensors to detect electronic residue and repeated the scan. Two small blips appeared on the screen moving side by side. He recognised the signature of a sonic screwdriver, but the other was unfamiliar. He put the signal through analysis and laughed when the answer came back: 21st century cell-phone. That stupid girl was carrying a mobile phone! By the speed of the two blips it was clear the Doctor and the girl were running—they would reach the TARDIS in an estimated 13 minutes, 40 seconds according to the computer. Plenty of time for him to travel to the location in his own TARDIS and ambush them.

'But what if the Doctor anticipates your move?' said a nagging thought. 'What then?'

Hmm. Play hide-and-seek in the canal belt? Or stand guard for goodness knows how long? The Master needed a back-up plan.

'You have a time machine,' said a thought. 'Why not travel to ten minutes ago and stop the Doctor from leaving in the first place?'

'Because I'd have to take my TARDIS into the Time Vortex,' said the Master. Space travel was a simple matter of going from A to B, but time travel of even one second required entering the Vortex and, once in there, all bets were off regarding precision. You could navigate the currents of Time, but never control them.

13 minutes, 10 seconds.

A more down-to-earth solution came to the Master. But he would have to move fast.

In a small bare office on the ground floor of the town hall, Captain Henk Smit poured himself a goblet of ale from a pewter jug. He was a stocky man whose uniform had had to be widened twice and whose hair and beard were blond turning to grey. He was also one of three captains in charge of the town hall's militia guard and, at present, the only one on duty. He had already done his rounds, exchanging a few words with guards who complained about the summer heat, and he felt ready for a treat.

He was just about to take a long draught of ale when he heard the guards in the other room address someone. He quickly put the goblet next to the jug and threw over a muslin cloth to conceal them. He was just in time.

The door opened and the dijkgraaf walked in, immaculate in his posh black clothes, white lace collar and trimmed beard. Although he knew him by sight, Captain Smit had never spoken to the dijkgraaf before and he disliked him on principle. All these city councillors were the same, looking down their noses at common-born men like Smit.

'I understand your name is Captain Smit?' said the dijkgraaf.

'That's right, sir.'

'I'm in a great hurry, captain, so I'll get right to the point.'

The dijkgraaf put four gold sovereigns onto the rough wooden table between them. Captain Smit swallowed—each coin was worth nearly two months wages. Perhaps this dijkgraaf wasn't such a bad fellow after all.

'What do you want me to do?' said Captain Smit.

After giving the captain his instructions, the Master returned, bounding up the main staircase three stairs at a time. Because time was of the essence, the Master had decided to risk leaving the doors unlocked and he was disturbed to see that his office door was open. Cursing his luck, he entered and found Cornelis in the room.

'Oh, I'm sorry, sir…'

'Not now, Cornelis!' roared the Master. 'Get out! Out! Out! Out!'

Cornelis scuttled out like a rabbit. The Master slammed the door and locked it. Honestly! As if petty Town Hall business meant _anything_ now that the Doctor was here! The Master ran into his TARDIS, almost skidding on the metal gantry as he arrived before the computer screen.

1 minute, 20 seconds.

'Cutting it fine, cutting it fine,' said the Master, digging the laser screwdriver out of his pocket. He changed the setting, pointed it at the console and pressed the switch. There was a whine from the screwdriver and a corresponding 'Crackle-Whoosh!' from the console—a yellow sheet of light rippled across the controls and vanished. The Master leapt before the controls, set the coordinates and took off.

Coils of shining power snaked through the rotor column, pulsating with the rising groan of the TARDIS engines. The noise climbed, levelled off and almost immediately began to descend. The coiling light dimmed and there was a reverberating 'Boom!' as the ship landed. The noise died out completely and the Master flicked off a line of switches and twisted a dial to zero. He ran down the sloping walkway and stepped out through the door.

The Master found himself in a compact stableyard overlooked by tall houses—mostly brick wall with a few small windows for ventilation. There was dry straw on the cobblestones beneath his feet and the smell of manure that came from a small stable building was old. But the Master noticed none of this; he had eyes for only one thing: The blue police box that stood in the yard.

'Oh, Doctor,' said the Master. 'Would it kill you to fix the chameleon circuit?'

His own TARDIS had taken on the shape of a small shed, built of the same stone and slate roof as the stable building. It had a perfect view onto a short alleyway with an iron gate that was the only entrance to the yard. Drawing his laser screwdriver and setting it to tissue compression, the Master stepped into the shadows and waited for the Doctor.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The Doctor said 'Run' and Amy ran. They arrived at the top of the main hall staircase and legged it down the stairs, tearing past a civil servant in black clutching a map tube. The Doctor stopped, froze as though a thought were being dropped into his head, and then sprang back up.

'Cornelis,' he said, taking the man's shoulders. 'Were you listening at the door?'

Cornelis's face told him everything. He looked pale and shaken.

'You're coming with us,' said the Doctor. He led the Dutchman down the stairs and across the hall to the exit with a firm hand on his arm. Amy followed, not liking what she saw. She was still rattled by what the Doctor had said in the ballroom and his manner now with Cornelis was like that of an arresting officer.

As soon as they stepped outside, they were hit by the summer heat and the noise of the crowd on Dam Square. 'This way,' said the Doctor, leading them along the front of the town hall building to avoid the worst of the crowds.

'No, Doctor! Stop!'

'There isn't time, Amy!'

'I need to know whose side you're on!'

The Doctor stopped and looked back at her. He took a breath, then nodded for them to step into an alcove. Along the front of the façade was a series of pillars and arches, mostly for decoration, but a few had a door in the alcove wall. They gathered in one of them.

'You don't know whose side I'm on?' said the Doctor.

'Right now, no!' said Amy. 'I mean, sometimes you go flying in like Superman, but sometimes you're all We-Must-Not-Interfere! Which one are you now?'

'That depends on Cornelis.'

Cornelis started at the sound of his name. The Doctor and Amy were both looking at him and he held the long map tube protectively as though trying to ward them off.

'I'm just a civil servant,' he said. 'I don't understand any of this.'

'You understand that the dijkgraaf plans to destroy your country?' said the Doctor.

Cornelis nodded reluctantly.

'Then the only question is, Cornelis: Are you going to help me stop him?'

Amy looked at the Doctor, eyes shining with gratitude. The Doctor looked at Cornelis, waiting for his answer. Cornelis swallowed.

'What do you want me to do?' he said.

'Well, get rid of that map tube for a start,' said the Doctor. "It's beginning to annoy me. And start thinking! There must be some way to convince your Town Hall chums that the dijkgraaf is Bad News in Big Letters.'

Cornelis nodded and went to wedge the map tube behind one of the stone pillars. He fussed over it, trying not to get dirt on his hands.

'Do you think he can handle it, Doctor?' said Amy in a low voice.

'Not without your help.'

The Doctor gave her a meaningful look. Amy took it in and nodded.

'What about you?' she said.

'Get to my TARDIS before the Master does.'

'At least he doesn't know where it is.'

'One scan for alien tech and he will.'

'Oh, yeah.'

'Difficult to hide a time machine in the 17th century, Amy. And a sonic screwdriver too, come to think of it.' The Doctor patted his jacket over the breast pocket. 'I'd better get moving.'

'Doctor! Would _this_ count as alien tech?' Amy held out her mobile phone.

The Doctor's face broke into a beaming smile. He put the phone in his trouser pocket and looked at her with glee. 'Amelia Pond!' he said. 'You might just have uncovered the Master's fatal error!'

'And what's that?'

'He thinks you're stupid!'

And with that, the Doctor dashed off. Was that a compliment? wondered Amy as she watched him dodge around people to the end of the building and disappear around the corner. She turned to see that Cornelis had also been watching the Doctor.

'Pardon me, Miss Amy,' he said. 'But he does seem to rather enjoy this.'

'You get used to it.'

Amy stood in the shade of the alcove and looked at the mass of people who thronged the square—beggars and sailors and merchants and traders. The Doctor had dumped her in the middle of it all, as usual, but when she looked at the civil servant beside her, she realised that he felt more lost than she did.

'All right, Cornelis,' she said. 'Where do we start?'

'I was rather hoping you could advise me?'

'Oka-a-ay.' Amy frowned. 'Who's the big boss? The man in charge of this place?'

'Well, technically, as a democratically elected council, there's no…' Amy gave Cornelis the evil eye. '…the Lord Mayor,' said Cornelis immediately.

'And is the mayor friends with the Master?'

'With who? Oh!' said Cornelis, remembering. A thought struck him. 'No. In fact, earlier today, the mayor insisted on a meeting with the dijkgraaf and he seemed annoyed.'

'There you go, Cornelis! It's not so hard, is it?'

'What is?'

'Come on!'

Amy made her way along the town hall building, heading back to the main entrance. Cornelis followed, wringing his hands.

'Where are we going?' he said.

'To have a chat with the mayor, of course.'

'But we haven't got an appointment.'

'Cornelis, the first thing you need to understand is that—Get back!'

Amy had just reached the entrance and could see into the main hall—and the first person she saw was the Master walking quickly across the floor. She jumped back, pushing Cornelis out of sight. He stumbled and they grabbed each other to stop him falling. Amy held him until she was sure he was stable and then became aware that two militia guards were staring at them.

'Sorry about that,' she said. 'I caught sight of my father and I didn't want him to see us together. Come along, dearest!'

Amy took Cornelis by the arm and led him into the building. He wore the expression of a man hit over the head with a large board. One guard watched them go in, his look going from the lovely, long-haired girl to the thin-faced, thin-haired civil servant. Finally, he turned back to his fellow guard.

'Wish I had money,' he sighed.

Amy and Cornelis crossed the main hall and hurried up the staircase without a word. They both had the same thought—to get out of sight before the Master came back out of that side door. Only when they reached the gallery overlooking the main hall did Amy speak.

'So where was he going in such a hurry?'

'That door leads to the guard's quarters,' said Cornelis. 'Maybe he's having the Doctor arrested by the militia!'

'Oh, whoopee.'

Amy made a decision. 'Come on,' she said, hurrying down a corridor.

'But the mayor is _that_ way!' said Cornelis as he struggled to keep up.

'I want to check the dijkgraaf's office.'

'But he always keeps it locked.'

They arrived at the door and Amy tried the handle. The door opened.

'That's what happens when you're in a rush,' said Amy, moving to go in.

'What are you doing?'

'Cornelis, our conversation with the mayor will go a lot smoother if we have some proof that the Master is up to no good.'

'What kind of proof?'

Amy was losing patience with all the questions. She wasn't like this with the Doctor, was she? 'Look, Cornelis, if you really want to help, go back to the top of the stairs and come warn me if the Master starts to head back.'

'Yes. Yes, that would be sensible.'

'Go on now!'

Cornelis nodded and hurried off. Amy sighed with relief and closed the door. She looked across at the tall ornate wooden cupboard. The proof she had in mind was in there and she thought it would be pretty convincing. Even so, when she went across to try the door, a part of her hoped it would be locked. She turned the cupboard handle and pulled.

It was open.

Amy felt a wave of nausea. She knew she would have to open the ice box, but to carry one of those things in her bare hands—she couldn't do it. She looked around the office and her eye fell on the fireplace. Holland's winter fuel in those days was dried squares of turf and Amy saw a pair of metal tongs and a tin pan and brush for sweeping up the ash.

'That'll do.'

Amy collected the pan and the tongs and entered the Master's TARDIS. The greenish light gave her the creeps, but she walked with a determined stride straight to the rows of plastic crates and the ice box. The crates looked weird and the objects they contained looked futuristic—she really ought to have a closer look. Or was she trying to distract herself?

'Get on with it, Pond,' said Amy, squaring up before the ice box and taking a deep breath. 'Just get it over with!'

Amy took off the lid.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Cornelis stood on the gallery that overlooked the main hall and watched civil servants rush up and down the huge staircase. He had been doing the same for years; the sight was so familiar he didn't even notice it anymore, but as he watched it now, it felt bizarre, unreal.

One of the civil servants arriving at the top of the staircase glanced over at Cornelis. At first he kept walking, then he stopped, glanced over again, seemed to think and finally wandered over. Cornelis tensed, his breathing quickening as the other man came up to him. His name was Hendrick Bos, an official working for the city alderman.

'Waiting for someone?' said Hendrick.

'No … Yes. Maybe.' Cornelis tugged at his collar.

Hendrick frowned. He looked around, trying to appear casual.

'I've been hearing these rumours, old man. About the dijkgraaf.'

'What rumours?!'

'Come now, Cornelis! You're his secretary! There's gossip that the mayor has invited him to join tonight's dinner at his house. And we all know what _that_ means, don't we?'

Cornelis looked at the other man, aghast.

'Good Lord ,' said Hendrick. 'You really didn't know, did you?'

Hendrick looked like a man who wished he had kept his mouth shut. He gave Cornelis a curt nod and left quickly. Cornelis watched him go, his thoughts whirling inside his head. Miss Amy's idea of convincing the mayor that the dijkgraaf was 'Bad News with Big Letters' might not go as smoothly as planned. Cornelis looked down at the door on the floor below and, as if on cue, it opened and the dijkgraaf walked through, heading for the staircase.

'Oh no!'

Cornelis bolted into the corridor. He was puffing when he reached the office and opened the door.

'Miss Amy! The…'

Cornelis tailed off. The room was empty. He ran up to the tall cupboard and looked in. Empty. He looked round, even checking under the desk, but there really weren't any places to hide. Miss Amy had vanished. Cornelis decided he had better vanish himself and was heading for the door when it opened.

Inside the Master's TARDIS, Amy had managed to retrieve one of the small doll-sized corpses and was carrying it in the tin pan. It was, she hoped, the original dijkgraaf.

When Amy had first opened the ice box, she felt less horrified than she had expected. She still couldn't stand the thought of touching them, but the little figure of the working Dutchman, complete with a tiny pair of clogs, was more pitiable than horrifying. It helped that the Master was not there to explain in gruesome detail how tissue compression worked.

There were others in the ice box, mostly covered in frost, and the sight of them worried Amy. They really did look like dolls—would anyone here believe it wasn't some elaborate hoax? Then one figure caught her attention. He was dressed in the same black clothes and white collar as the Master. If that was the old dijkgraaf, wouldn't the mayor recognise him? The small body was stuck to the side with ice and Amy used the tongs to chip it away. Finally, she got him into the tin pan and she hurried to the door, but just as she got there, she heard a voice from outside, faint but clear.

'Not now, Cornelis! Get out! Out! Out! Out!'

Amy was already running back to the row of crates. She ducked behind them and almost immediately heard booted feet running up the metal walkway. 'Cutting it fine, cutting it fine,' she heard the Master say. You don't know the half of it, thought Amy. She heard him activate his laser screwdriver and a couple of seconds later, the TARDIS took off.

It was weird to hear the engines of this TARDIS. The sound was identical to the Doctor's. Absolutely identical. Hearing that sound, she could almost smell the tweed of the Doctor's jacket. She looked down at the tiny figure on a tin pan, a reminder that she was not in the Doctor's TARDIS. This would be her if the Master caught her a second time; she had no illusions about that.

The TARDIS landed. Amy heard switches being flicked, the ratchet sound of a dial decisively turned to OFF and the clanging of the Master's boots as he ran out. Then quiet. There were distant creaks and clicks as though the TARDIS were settling herself. Carefully, Amy peeked over the top of the crates.

At that exact moment, the Doctor was also peering over the top of some crates. These crates were wooden and stacked on a cart that had stopped on the street next to the canal. The Doctor had been running along this street when he had picked up a familiar sound in the near distance. It was only one sound amongst the city noise of horses and carts and clogs and shouts, but the Doctor knew it and knew what it meant—the Master had arrived. In fact, thought the Doctor, he had taken his time if he'd only just got here.

The cart moved off and the Doctor stayed where he was, thinking. He had been running for a good ten minutes since leaving Amy and Cornelis by the town hall. Assuming the Master had been tracking him, why did he waste ten minutes before getting here? The Master did nothing without a reason.

The Doctor had been heading to the house where his TARDIS was. Now, he crossed a bridge and made his way along the street on the opposite side of the canal. Sure enough, he arrived at a point where he could see the iron gates that led into the stableyard. He crouched, trying to see across the canal and down the alley for a glimpse of his TARDIS, moving side-to-side like a bad Hindu dancer. A couple of street children stopped to watch.

'Are you Irish?' said the girl, who was the elder of the two. It took the Doctor a moment to realise she was talking to him.

'Me? Irish?' he said. 'Why would I be Irish?'

'Because you're dancing.'

'But the Irish dance like this,' said the Doctor and he pointed his hands to the ground and danced a jig.

'Oh yeah,' said the girl. 'So where are you from?'

'Gallifrey.'

'Oh yeah.' The girl nodded and led the little boy away by the hand. The Doctor wrinkled his nose and looked back across the canal.

Along with the usual traffic, the Doctor saw a militia captain on horseback accompanied by two guards on foot. When the captain stopped at the iron gates and dismounted, the Doctor understood.

'Soldiers,' he said to himself. 'He was getting soldiers.'

The Master appeared at the iron gates. He came out and exchanged a few words with the captain. As the captain was explaining something, the Master looked around and saw the Doctor standing on the other side of the canal. He held up one finger as if to say 'I'll be with you in one minute' and continued his discussion. The Doctor put his hands behind his back and paced slowly along the edge of the canal, looking down into the murky water.

When he looked up, the soldiers had gone into the yard and the Master was walking along the edge of the canal on the opposite side, keeping pace with him.

'Tell me, Doctor!' called the Master. 'Are we really going to shout across twenty feet of water?'

'I like twenty feet of water between us!' called back the Doctor. 'Twenty feet is good!'

The Master switched to Gallifreyan. Nobody took any notice; to the people of Amsterdam, two foreigners having a shouting match was business as usual.

'Where's your little friend?'

'Out of harm's way,' said the Doctor. 'This is between us.'

'Of course! That's how it's always been, you and me standing amongst these lesser beings like gods!'

The Doctor stared at the water and took a deep breath. He was not going to get drawn into this. He looked back up, eyes narrowed.

"Leave this planet,' said the Doctor. 'Just pack up and go.'

'Not until I'm done.'

'Done with what? What does that even mean?'

The Master gestured to the surroundings—the crooked houses, the people, the movement and life.

'I have a vision!' said the Master. 'Everything around us is destroyed. Torn down. Burned. Flooded. Washed away. Annihilated. And when I'm done, you and I are standing on the ashes … and you shake my hand for doing it.'

The Doctor shook his head and said quietly to himself, 'That's never going to happen.'

'I have seen the End of Time, Doctor.' The Master laughed to himself. 'I see the Universe for what it really is. One day, you will see it too—and on that day, you will _truly_ understand the one word that defines it.'

The Master looked over his shoulder. Two militia soldiers driving a horse and cart were approaching the iron gates. He turned back to the Doctor.

'But in the meantime,' he called, 'I'm taking your TARDIS off the board! Don't want you running away, do I?'

The Doctor turned his back and walked away. 'Your move, Doctor!' taunted the Master. To his surprise, the Doctor turned, walked back and called out a three word reply before walking away and disappearing around a corner.

'Rook Takes Pawn!'

For the second time that day, the smile was wiped off the Master's face.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

When the Master heard Captain Smit's shout through the iron gates, he came out from the shadow of his TARDIS in an extremely good mood. He loved it when events proved him right—he had predicted that the Doctor would anticipate his ambush and that was how things had played out.

'Wait there!' called the Master.

He went over to the Doctor's TARDIS and tried the door. It was locked—not even the Doctor was that careless. Frowning, he went to lock his own TARDIS before going to Captain Smit. The incident in his office still preyed on his mind. It had been a calculated risk to keep both doors unlocked, but a justified one—every second had counted. The Doctor and the girl were the only ones who knew about his TARDIS and, since they were out of the building, the chances of anyone else blundering in during those few minutes were remote. That Cornelis had nearly done so was a nasty reminder to the Master that, no matter how brilliant his plans or flawless his logic, there was such a thing as Dumb Luck. He hated it.

'You made good time, sir,' said Captain Smit as the Master came through the iron gates. 'I left the town hall less than ten minutes after you'd left my office.'

'I have a fast horse,' said the Master. He looked around. 'I thought I'd ordered a cart?'

'On its way, sir. We came ahead to confirm the location. Getting a horse and cart through the streets on these canals can be a bit of an ordeal, as I'm sure you can…'

Captain Smit tailed off. The Master wasn't listening; he had one finger in the air and his attention was on the other side of the canal. Before Captain Smit could look for himself, the Master's attention was back.

'Cart, streets, ordeal,' he said. 'Go on, captain.'

'Well,' said Captain Smit. 'Basically, the cart will take a little time to get here. Because of the narrow streets.'

'Understood. Now, if you would come over here, gentlemen, I'll show you what you'll be transporting.'

The Master led the three soldiers to the gateway where they had a clear view of the police box. He pointed it out to them just in case they were more stupid than average humans. One soldier, Jacob, turned to the other.

'You know my uncle in Zaandam?' he said. 'His toilet shed looks a bit like that.'

'Is it blue?' said Luud, the other soldier.

'Nah, green. And it doesn't have windows.'

'How fascinating,' said the Master. 'Now would you go in and guard it until the cart gets here!'

Inside the Master's TARDIS, Amy stood by the door studying the lock mechanism. She had spent what felt like ages crouched behind the crates, debating whether she should risk breaking cover. 'Come on, Pond!' she'd muttered to herself. 'Don't be such a wimp!' But when she heard the door being locked, she was glad of her caution. You only lock a door when you're going some distance away—so all this time the Master must have been just outside.

Standing before the locked door, the question now was: Does it open on the inside? It looked like a standard latch mechanism just like in the Doctor's TARDIS. She reached out, bracing herself for another ionic blast. The lock clicked open.

Quiet as she could, she opened the door a crack and peeked out. She felt a pang as she caught sight of the familiar blue police box, then froze as a militia soldier stepped forwards to examine it.

'There's writing here, captain,' said the soldier looking at the white panel. 'And I think it's in English.'

'Didn't know you could read, Jacob,' said a gruff voice.

'Did this come from England then?' said another voice.

'What's in it?' said Jacob, trying to see into the windows. Amy saw a hand pull him away.

'Now listen to me, both of you!' said the gruff voice. 'It's none of our business what's in there, do you understand? None of our business. The only question I want to hear from you is: How do we get this thing onto the cart?'

Amy closed the door and relocked it. If she was very lucky, she might get a moment when all three soldiers had their backs turned and she could sneak into the Doctor's TARDIS. But what then? She looked around the green-lit cavern of the Master's time machine and wished she knew how to fly it. If the Doctor were here, he could probably sabotage the Master's whole plan, whatever it was. Drown the Netherlands, yes—but how? The answers were here, Amy felt sure, but she didn't know how to find them.

She was like a Trojan horse, she thought. According to the story, Greek soldiers hid inside a giant wooden horse which was brought into the enemy city of Troy. At night, the soldiers crept out and opened Troy's city gates from the inside, letting in the Greek army. It could work, thought Amy. Sooner or later, the Doctor would figure out where she was. But there was no wooden horse in here and she had to find a better hiding place than a few crates.

In the street, the Doctor had found his own solution to this problem. Many of the houses had a set of steps that led to a grand front door five feet above street level. The side of these steps and the front wall of the house would form a corner where a beggar might find shelter from an unkind wind—or where a Time Lord could keep an eye on things on the other side of the canal.

His TARDIS had been dragged out on some kind of sled and the soldiers were preparing to lift it onto the back of a cart. The Master had stayed close the entire time, watching the operation and occasionally looking around for the Doctor. Ducking back for the umpteenth time, the Doctor sighed. He couldn't make any attempt to retrieve his TARDIS while the Master was watching. Still, the longer the Master was kept busy, the more time Amy and Cornelis had to make allies at the town hall.

The moment the thought entered the Doctor's head, he saw Cornelis. The civil servant was walking along, shoulders hunched, looking as though the sky was about to fall on his head. The Doctor was easily visible to Cornelis from where he was walking, but he seemed so wrapped up in unhappy thoughts that he walked right past. The Doctor grabbed him and pulled him backwards into his hiding place.

'Oh, Doctor!' Cornelis looked relieved. 'Thank goodness!'

'Cornelis, what are you doing here?'

'Looking for you.'

'Where's Amy?'

Cornelis tugged at his collar, swallowed and told his story—how Amy had gone to search the dijkgraaf's office and how she had disappeared when Cornelis came to warn her of the Master's approach. After the Master had thrown him out and locked the door, Cornelis had heard a strange groaning noise that rose and vanished and when he knocked at the door, there was no answer. Cornelis had asked around, but nobody had seen a girl—'And they would have remembered her, dressed the way she was,' said Cornelis. Finally, he had gone to the militia's quarters and found out that Captain Smit had left with some men to take care of a cargo on the Herengracht on orders of the dijkgraaf. 'I thought it might have something to do with you, so I came here,' ended Cornelis miserably.

Cornelis had told his story while looking at his shoes. When the Doctor said nothing, Cornelis feared the worst; feared that the Doctor would blame him for losing his lady friend. He couldn't believe it when he realised that the Doctor was smiling all over his face.

'Oh, that beautiful, wonderful, clever girl!' said the Doctor. 'Isn't she _amazing?_' he said to Cornelis, his eyes sparkling with glee.

'I beg your pardon?'

'The Master doesn't know! If he'd caught her, he would have gloated about it for sure.' The Doctor grabbed Cornelis by the shoulders. 'Do you know what this means?'

'No.'

'If Amy is where I think she is, Cornelis-me-old-Dutchman, we can stop the Master's plan in its tracks!'


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The blue wooden box was on the cart, like a fairground attraction in transit. The two soldiers at the reins glanced around, faintly embarrassed at transporting what looked like a toilet shed. Captain Smit though was all smiles. He went up to the Master who was leaning on a gatepost and waved proudly at the blue box.

'It's done, sir!' said Captain Smit. 'We're ready to go.'

'Your men don't seem to share your enthusiasm, captain,' said the Master. 'Are they not sharing in your good fortune?'

Captain Smit went pink in the face. He opened his mouth to protest, but the Master raised a hand.

'I don't care,' he said. 'You have your business and I have mine. The only thing that interests me is: Can you transport this box from here to the town hall without losing it?'

'Sir, you can rest easy. That box is in safe hands.'

'Yes, I've heard that before.'

'We are five armed men, sir. I can assure you…'

'Shut up, captain, and listen.' The Master looked at Smit with dark eyes. 'Listen very, very carefully to what I'm about to say.'

On the other side of the canal, Cornelis was peering out from around a corner. The Doctor sat with his back against the wall, twiddling his thumbs and staring into space.

'The dijkgraaf is saying something to the captain,' said Cornelis.

'Hmm.'

'What do you think he's saying, Doctor?'

'If I know the Master, he's putting the fear of God into the man. Thinks it will make him more vigilant or something.'

Cornelis looked down at the Doctor, worried and confused. The Doctor's nonchalance only seemed to make it worse.

'Are you really going to steal that box, Doctor?'

'It's not stealing if it's mine.'

'But why's it so important?'

'Because it's a magic box, Cornelis.'

The Doctor looked up and saw the expected look of disbelief in the Dutchman's eyes. He smiled.

'Cornelis, if you can help me get inside my box, I will prove it to you.'

Cornelis looked at the ground, not wanting to be rude. He glanced back around the corner. And jumped.

'Doctor! They're leaving!'

The Doctor leapt to his feet and joined Cornelis in peering around the corner. On their side of the canal, a wagon stacked with barrels passed and blocked their view. The Doctor jumped out to see around it and caught sight of the Master disappearing down the short alleyway behind the iron gates. The cart with the TARDIS and its escort were already some way down the street on the other side. As the barrel wagon trundled on, Cornelis came to stand next to the Doctor. Amid the noise of the city, there was the distant sound of a TARDIS taking off.

'Doctor, that sound!' said Cornelis. 'It's the same as…'

'I know, Cornelis. I know.' The Doctor sighed. 'Pity. It would have made things easier if the Master had accompanied the cart. Still, he's not one to leave an undefended piece on the board.'

The Doctor took out a handkerchief and wrapped his sonic screwdriver and Amy's cellphone within it. A nearby house had window boxes brimming with flowers and, in one of them, the Doctor planted his little package.

'What are you doing?' said Cornelis.

'Putting Plan B into action,' said the Doctor, shaking the earth off his hands and turning to Cornelis with a big smile. 'Now tell me, Cornelis … where can I get a woman?'

Captain Smit sat proudly on his horse, leading the cart and his men. He scanned the civilians ahead of him looking for potential trouble, but part of his mind was thinking of how he would spend the money he was about to make. He already had one gold sovereign in his pocket and the rest would be paid upon the safe delivery of the blue box. When he and his escort turned onto the Rosengracht—the canal street which ended at the back entrance to the town hall—he reflected on how this was the easiest money he had ever made.

'Captain! Captain Smit, sir!'

Captain Smit looked to where the shout came from and saw a man hurry towards him. It was a civil servant from the town hall, a thin-faced man who had the colour of someone who spent his life in dark rooms. However, that face was familiar. Captain Smit raised his hand for the escort to stop.

'Cornelis Dekker, sir,' said the man as he approached the captain. 'Secretary to the Dijkgraaf.'

Captain Smit felt a sudden misgiving.

'And how can I help you, Mr. Dekker?' he said.

'I have new instructions from the dijkgraaf,' said Cornelis. 'Urgent instructions.'

'Go on.'

Cornelis lowered his voice. 'The dijkgraaf has just received news that the contents of the box might be forgeries. He needs to know the truth immediately.'

'How?'

'There is an expert who can confirm the authenticity of the contents.'

Captain Smit sat back on his horse.

'And where is this expert?' he said.

Cornelis turned and waved a hand. Two figures stepped out of a doorway and walked towards them—a man and a young woman. The woman had strawberry blond hair, freckles and dressed cheap and fancy, like one of the working girls who stood in doorways and invited sailors on leave to spend their money. But Captain Smit merely glanced at her. His interest was on the funny-looking man in the outlandish clothes.

'Mr. Dekker,' said Captain Smit, smiling. 'You do know I was instructed not to let anyone near that box?'

'Yes, captain,' said Cornelis. 'That's why the dijkgraaf sent me, so you would know you have his authorisation. And he has a document to confirm it.'

'Indeed I do,' said the funny-looking man, taking a wallet out of his jacket pocket.

Captain Smit nodded and leant forwards to address him.

'You're a clever man, Doctor!' he said.

'Oh,' said the Doctor, taken aback. 'You've heard of me?'

'The dijkgraaf told me to watch out for one man in particular. And he described you, sir. Your hair, your clothes, right down to the…' Captain Smit patted an elbow. The Doctor looked at the elbow patches on his jacket. Smit continued: 'And he said, quote: "Under no circumstances _whatsoever_ are you to let the Doctor near that box." Unquote.'

Captain Smit looked round at his men. They smiled back, letting him know they witnessed his being too smart for this foreigner. The Doctor looked pensive as he returned the wallet to his jacket pocket and the civil servant looked like he was about to cry. Only the girl seemed unaffected—she looked like she had no clue what was going on.

'It was clever of you to use the dijkgraaf's secretary,' said Captain Smit to the Doctor. 'But not clever enough. So, unless you want to try something else, we'll be on our way.'

Captain Smit kicked his horse forwards and waved for his men to follow. The Doctor, Cornelis and the girl stood and watched as the cart carrying the TARDIS trundled past. The Doctor looked at it with mournful eyes.

'I'm sorry, Doctor,' said Cornelis.

'Nonsense, not your fault at all,' said the Doctor. 'I should have seen this coming. We'll just have to think of something else.'

'Does that mean you don't need me anymore?' said the girl with the freckles. The Doctor nodded and Cornelis proceeded to pay her. 'Talk about easy money,' she said. 'I didn't do anything.'

'And you did it beautifully,' said the Doctor. He looked curiously at Cornelis's purse. 'I don't suppose you have enough in there to bribe the captain?' he said.

'He's already been bribed,' said the girl as she pocketed the money.

'But he's a town hall official!' said Cornelis, offended.

'Oh, grow up, darling,' said the girl. 'It was obvious! Takes one to know one, if you know what I mean,' she added to the Doctor. Then, she frowned. The Doctor was looking at her as though she were the most marvellous thing he'd ever seen.

'Young lady! Cornelis! Follow me!' he said and he dashed off down the street in pursuit of the cart.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

At the back of the town hall building right on the top was a statue of Atlas holding the world on his shoulders. Captain Smit was in sight of it now as he led his entourage. He could almost taste the venison with cranberry sauce he would be dining on that evening and felt pleased with himself; perhaps even a little disappointed at how easy it had been to see through the funny-looking man who called himself the Doctor. The dijkgraaf had made him out to be such an amazingly clever fellow. Not clever enough for Captain Smit.

So when the Doctor showed up at his side, keeping pace with his horse, Captain Smit felt a pleasant curiosity. After a quick look back to see that the cart with its blue box was secure, Smit returned the Doctor's wave with an indulgent nod. Go ahead, thought Smit. Let's see what you've come up with.

'So, captain,' said the Doctor. 'The dijkgraaf told you to keep me away from that box?'

'That's right, sir.'

'Did he tell you why?'

'None of my business, sir.'

'Really? Are you not the least bit curious?'

'No, sir. My job is to follow orders.'

'Even if that means covering up a murder?'

Captain Smit stopped dead. He heard the soldier behind him shout as he suddenly had to stop the cart. Smit glared down at the Doctor. This funny-looking man didn't look so funny anymore.

'What are you talking about?'

'Three months ago,' said the Doctor in a voice deliberately loud, 'the elected dijkgraaf disappeared. The story went out that he was an embezzler escaping from justice, but I have reason to believe that this man was innocent—that he was, in fact, the victim of a most foul murder!'

A few people were watching, including Cornelis and the girl, and the word 'murder' was like a magnet, attracting even more. As an audience began to grow, Captain Smit realised he was fast becoming the centre of attention. He had to be careful.

'That is a serious assertion,' said Captain Smit. 'Do you have any proof?'

'How about the murdered man's body?' said the Doctor. There was a gasp from the growing crowd. People were now gathering on both sides of the canal, watching.

'I don't see a dead body!' said Captain Smit.

'That's because it's been hidden,' said the Doctor.

'Where?'

'Where do you think?'

Captain Smit couldn't help himself—he looked back at the blue box. It was the first place that came into his head and he wasn't the only one. All his soldiers turned to look at the box and the word was buzzing round the crowd. 'He was murdered?' 'His body's in _there?_' 'I always knew there was something fishy about that story!'

'That's enough!' shouted Captain Smit. 'Order! Order! I have something to say!'

The people began to quieten down. Captain Smit sat up on his horse to address them. The Doctor watched him with beetle-like interest.

'The place for this kind of discourse is the magistrate's court,' said Captain Smit in a ringing voice. 'Not the public streets!'

'Aren't you even going to look?' shouted a voice.

'There is no evidence to suggest…' began Captain Smit, but he was drowned out by boos and catcalls. The Doctor noticed that, while Cornelis was quietly watching, the freckle-faced girl was booing as loud as anyone. She seemed to be loving this. Captain Smit jumped off his horse and confronted the Doctor.

'You're making this up, aren't you?' snarled the captain. 'There's no body in that box!'

'The dijkgraaf has been murdered!' shouted the Doctor over the noise of the crowd. 'That much I promise you is true. I don't know for sure where the body is, but come on, captain! A mysterious box? No explanations? Special instructions not to let me near it? What do _you_ think?'

'What's so special about you?'

'I have the key.'

And the Doctor showed him. Captain Smit gazed at it in something close to wonder. Slowly, the Doctor raised the key until he was holding it above his head the way Liberty holds the 'Light of Truth' above hers. Everyone who saw the shiny key in the Doctor's hand seemed to understand what it was and the catcalling died down to a murmur. Then, a girl's voice called out: 'Open the box! Open the box!' and the crowd took it up as a chant.

The soldier, Jacob, ran up to Captain Smit. 'Sir! What do we do?'

'We follow orders, Jacob.'

'But, sir…'

'We follow orders!' cried Smit.

'You sound more like an army soldier than militia!' said the Doctor. 'Isn't your first duty to uphold the city laws?'

'Don't lecture me on my duty!'

'You weren't bribed, were you?'

Captain Smit was caught completely by surprise. His face went pale and his mouth opened and shut like a landed fish. By the time he had gathered enough wits to voice a denial, it was already too late. Jacob looked at his captain with a mixture of shock and disgust.

'Jacob!' said Captain Smit. 'You can't take the word of this stranger!'

'You know, captain,' said the Doctor mercilessly. 'If there is a body in that box and you accepted money for transporting it … that would make you an accessory to murder.'

'I've played no part in any murder!' said Smit desperately.

'Prove it,' said the Doctor.

Captain Smit looked to Jacob for support, but the look he got back was pitiless and angry. The crowd still chanted 'Open the box! Open the box!' and suddenly Smit felt that it was aimed at him and him alone. He was no longer the ruddy-cheeked, self confident man who had been leading his entourage only a few minutes earlier—now he looked broken and lost, his shoulders hunched and his voice cracking as he spoke.

'What do you want?' he said.

'To open the box and take a look inside,' said the Doctor.

Captain Smit shook his head.

'Captain!' said Jacob with a dangerous look in his eye. 'I think we all need to know what's in that box! It's not as though this man can take it anywhere, is it? I mean, what can he do?'

Captain Smit rubbed his face and looked miserably at the blue box standing on the cart. He hated the sight of it.

'All right!' he said to the Doctor. 'Go look in your box!'

'Come on, sir,' said Jacob. A cheer went up from the crowd when they saw the Doctor being escorted towards the blue box.

'Oh, just one thing,' said the Doctor. 'You see that young lady, the one I came with?'

'Yes?'

'She's a relative of the old dijkgraaf. If his body is in there, she can identify him.'

Jacob sighed. 'All right,' he said.

The Doctor went up to Cornelis and the girl. Her eyes shone with excitement. 'What's next?' she said.

'It's a surprise,' said the Doctor. 'But trust me, you won't forget it.'

'I hear that a lot,' said the girl, but she took the Doctor's hand.

'Cornelis,' said the Doctor quickly. 'Do you remember that coffee shop we passed earlier? The one you called "scummy"?'

'Yes?'

The Doctor winked as led the girl away.

'What about it?' called Cornelis, but the Doctor had disappeared behind the heads of many people. Cornelis stretched his neck, trying to see, but people were pushing past him, wanting to get closer to the action. Then the Doctor and the girl climbed onto the back of the cart and the crowd quietened down.

Cornelis looked around. Everyone was watching them—people who gathered on both sides of the canal, the soldiers who stood surrounding the cart and Captain Smit with a face like thunder, sitting on his horse once more. Cornelis turned back to watch the Doctor.

It was almost like watching outdoor theatre with the cart as a stage. The Doctor went across to the blue box. He unlocked the door. He turned to the girl, offering his hand. She took a deep breath—several people watching took one in sympathy including Cornelis—and then she walked over to the Doctor and took his hand. He opened the door, the girl entered, the Doctor entered, the door closed. Then … nothing.

Cornelis frowned. A couple of soldiers exchanged glances. Someone made a rude comment and there was some laughter. A few others started exchanging remarks. Captain Smit gave a sharp nod to Jacob and Jacob climbed onto the back of the cart and began to move towards the box.

Then it started.

A wheezing, groaning sound that grew in volume as a white light on the box's roof began to flash. The crowd's laughter turned into shouts of alarm. Jacob jumped off the cart and Captain Smit fought to control his horse. Cornelis stared at the box, hypnotised by the flashing light. And, as he watched, the box slowly vanished from sight and the groaning noise faded to nothing, just as he had heard before. It was gone.

As the world around him went mad, Cornelis smiled for the first time that day.

'It really is a magic box,' he said.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The Master sat in his office and gazed at the object on his desk. It was a thing of beauty—clear blue plastic and silver chrome folding over each other with simple elegance. It had the overall shape and twice the length of a champagne glass and the base was stamped with a hologram that showed the year of manufacture: AD 2250. In the 23rd century, it was known as an L.V.D. or Liquid Vector Distributor.

But, in essence, it was a water pump. The base contained power cells and when activated the flute created a vortex of water that could funnel hundreds of gallons from A to B in a matter of seconds. It was ten times more effective than a windmill pump yet small enough to fit into a small wooden chest. The Master had travelled to Amsterdam 2251, materialising his TARDIS inside an LVD warehouse and stealing several crates. He also stopped off at an explosives factory before travelling back to the 17th century to begin work on his plan.

His preparations were not yet complete, but with the arrival of the Doctor he had to make some decisions. Three quarters of the windmill pumps in the province of Noord-Holland were equipped with LVDs which the Master could control from his TARDIS computer. He was now looking at the maps to see if he could feasibly equip the final quarter before beginning Stage One of his two part plan. The Master hated loose ends, but he was coming to the conclusion that, with the Doctor running around, it was too risky to delay. In his mind, he began Stage One and tried to imagine how it would play out.

In the regions surrounding Amsterdam, the Master would activate LVDs to funnel water in reverse—instead of pumping water out, the water would be pumped in. Farmers would see the water in the ditches inexplicably rise and overflow. There was rarely enough wind in summer for the windmill pumps to function and, even if they did, the Master could adjust LVD levels to compensate. The end result was that whole regions of Holland would be slowly submerged under water and thousands of refugees would head for Amsterdam. The thought of the Doctor stranded in this stinking, primitive city watching his beloved humans at each others' throats was so delicious to the Master that he had to pull himself out of the fantasy by mental force.

The Doctor wouldn't simply stand and watch, the Master reminded himself. He would no doubt figure out what was happening and maybe even reverse the process. Sooner or later he would put the LVDs out of action. But the Master had accounted for that. Just when the Doctor thought he had resolved the situation, bringing hope to the people, the Master would go to Stage Two.

A dyke was in essence a great wall made of earth and rocks that ran along the edge of a body of water. Every dyke had 'Zwakke Punten' or weak points—areas where the water pressure was at its highest. The Master had identified these points and, using 23rd century technology, embedded explosives into each of them. It had taken three nights and a lot of TARDIS hopping to complete the task—also half a dozen farmers and night watchmen had stumbled onto him and ended up in the Master's ice box. But it was done. So if the Doctor ever reached the point of reversing the situation, the Master would detonate all the explosives from his TARDIS computer and Holland would be flooded. The circling sharks of England, France and Spain would already have scented blood and this blow would finish the job. The Netherlands would be finished as a country, war would break out in Europe and the Doctor would be stuck right in the middle of a mess that he might even get the blame for. It was perfect. The only thing the Master couldn't figure out was how to engineer one last meeting with the Doctor. Before he left, he dearly wanted to see the look of anger and defeat on the Doctor's face, but there were too many variables to guarantee it.

The Master was turning the problem over in his mind when a frantic knocking brought him back to the real world. He placed the LVD in the small wooden chest and closed it.

'Come in!' he said.

The door rattled. Rolling his eyes, the Master went over and unlocked it. Captain Smit and one of the soldiers tumbled into the room. The Master closed the door and looked at them. Without his jacket, the Master cut an almost flamboyant figure with white billowing sleeves and a smart black waistcoat. By contrast, Captain Smit looked sweaty and dishevelled and the soldier looked like he had been brought there under duress.

'Sir, you're not going to believe this!' said Captain Smit.

The Master's face was the picture of exasperation. The moment the captain had opened his mouth, he knew. He walked to the window, then to the fireplace, then back to the window as Captain Smit talked.

'I've brought Jacob here as a witness because…' Captain Smit shrugged helplessly, '…because I don't know how to begin to tell you…'

'Then let me assist you, Captain Twit!' said the Master. 'You were trundling along with your horse and cart when you were approached by a strange-looking man who called himself the Doctor. Correct?'

'Well … yes…'

'And there was a girl with him?'

'Yes…'

'And the man and the girl got into the box?'

Captain Smit just nodded.

'And then the box just vanished into thin air!' ended the Master dramatically.

'Sir, you've got to believe me!' protested Captain Smit. 'Jacob here's my witness!'

'Captain, didn't I say to you—didn't I specifically _tell_ you—not to let the Doctor anywhere near that box? Well, didn't I?'

Captain Smit looked at his feet, his forehead creased, his mind trying to grasp something. The Master's eyes were like coals of black fury.

'Is my question too difficult, captain?' he said.

'You believe me,' said Captain Smit, disbelieving. 'You believe me.'

'About the box disappearing? Of course I do,' said the Master dismissively. 'But what I find difficult to believe is that I give you a specific warning and you do _the exact thing _I warn you not to do! How does that even happen?'

'I didn't know the Doctor could make the box disappear, sir.'

The Master glared at Captain Smit, but this time the captain did not look away. It was a valid point, thought the Master. If anything, the fault was his for expecting a human to be a match for the Doctor. The Master turned his back and stared out through the window.

'My soldiers are looking for the box,' said Captain Smit. 'And we may get some information from Mr. Dekker when we find him.'

'Mr. Dekker?' said the Master. 'My secretary, Mr. Dekker? What could he know?'

'He was with the Doctor and the girl.'

'What?!' The Master whirled round.

'That's right, sir,' said Captain Smit, glad to have found another target for the Master's anger. 'In fact, it was Mr. Dekker who first approached us. He told us it was on your instructions that the Doctor be allowed to inspect the box.'

The Master's face had changed colour. He was beyond livid.

'Are you telling me…?' he said, 'that Cornelis Dekker—that pathetic, pasty-faced, pen-pushing Waste-of-Space—is the reason that _you_ let the Doctor into his TARDIS?'

'His what?' said Captain Smit. 'You've lost me, sir.'

The Master drew his weapon and fired. Captain Smit screamed as the compression field enveloped his body and began to crush his molecules into a super-dense mass. The friction temperature was high enough to evaporate the water in his cells and, as Smit's body was 90% water, his dried remains were less than a tenth of his original size. His corpse lay on the tiles like a broken doll with a few wisps of steam curling into the air.

Jacob's face was white. He looked from the floor to the Master and clumsily drew his sword. The Master smiled, looking at Jacob without rancour.

'You didn't want to come here, did you?' he said.

Jacob shook his head.

'I sympathise,' said the Master. 'A witness is not a good thing to be.'


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

From Amy's hiding place inside the Master's TARDIS it was difficult to hear what happened outside, even when the doors were open. But she heard the screams of the dying men. The sound was unmistakeable. Amy realised she was even beginning to get used to it—something that happened when you travelled with the Doctor.

While the Master was supervising the loading up of the Doctor's TARDIS, Amy had been hunting for a hiding place in his. It was the sound of hissing—the water that dripped from the thawing miniature corpse of the dijkgraaf onto the wiring under the metal grid floor—that led to her idea. It had to be possible to get under those metal grids. How else could the Master fix any wiring? But finding a grid section she could lift was another matter.

Eventually, it was the floor sections around the console that were the only possibility. It made sense that there would be easy access to the wiring near the console, but it was also where the Master was most likely to stand most of the time and once she was under the floor, she didn't want to move too much in case she pulled something loose he would have to fix. So when the Master returned and checked his scanner, the girl whose location he thought he was looking at was actually less than half a metre below his feet.

In his office, the Master looked down at the two small corpses lying on the floor. He felt strangely calm—killing often did that for him—and with it a mental clarity. He knew what he had to do.

Then, the door opened.

The Master leapt at the door, grabbing it before it could open fully and blocking the view to the room. The door banged against the person trying to enter and the Master found himself looking into the surprised face of the mayor.

'What are you playing at?' demanded the mayor.

'Don't Lord Mayors believe in knocking?' snarled the Master, showing his teeth like an animal.

'I heard a scream, sir!'

'Well … I appreciate your concern, your honour,' said the Master as he applied pressure to the door. The mayor wouldn't budge.

'What happened, man?' he said.

'I bumped my head on the fireplace. It was clumsy of me, but I'm fine.'

The mayor's eyes flicked upwards, to the Master's forehead. Still the door wouldn't budge.

'You were meant to give me back the list,' said the mayor. 'The dinner is in two hours and I have to leave. Do you have it?'

Yes, thought the Master, he had it all right—in his TARDIS.

'I'll bring it with me,' he said.

'You're not even supposed to have seen it!' said the mayor. 'Dammit, man, show some intelligence!'

The Master's eyes seemed to blacken with fury. Was this porky human calling him stupid? _Him_, the Master? While his eyes stayed furious, his mouth crooked into a half smile and he took a step back.

'Of course, your honour,' he said. 'Why don't you step inside while I fetch it?'

In his youth, the mayor had travelled to the colonies and fought against those who resisted the Dutch occupation. He remembered men in chains who would spend the rest of their short lives as slaves and he especially remembered how they looked at him. There was murder in those looks. The mayor was now older and fatter, but still he recognised that same look in the Master's dark eyes and crooked smile.

'Forget it,' said the mayor. 'Just forget it.'

And he turned and walked away, quickly but not running. The Master stood in the doorway a little surprised and then he closed the door and locked it. Whatever was going on with the mayor could wait—first he had to find the Doctor. The Master picked up the two tiny corpses and carried them into his TARDIS. He put them neatly into his ice box and wiped his hands on a handkerchief as he went to his computer.

'All right, Doctor,' he said. 'Let's see where you've put your TARDIS!'

The Master scanned for alien tech. There was a dull BEEP that signified no result. The Master smiled to himself and scanned for electrical residue—the sonic screwdriver and the cellphone. Again, a dull BEEP.

'It's about time we used our cloaking device!' said the Master, adjusting the scan settings. 'We don't want to make it _too_ easy, do we?'

The Master felt confident he would find the Doctor's TARDIS. Camouflage makes it harder to spot something, but once you know it's there, you can see through the disguise sooner or later. A cloaking device may hide electro-magnetic radiation, but there was always some field distortion if you knew how to recognise it—and the Master was an expert. Even a cloaked time machine should be easy to find on a planet where the height of technology was the windmill.

An hour and a half later, the Master was ready to kill someone. He had run countless scans and could not find so much as a digital watch. The only technology that came up were his own LVDs and explosives—the Master had even double-checked them to make sure the Doctor wasn't using them as a mask. But the only TARDIS on the planet was his.

'No! No! _No!_' cried the Master. 'He can't be gone! He _can't_ be!'

The Master tried to reset the scanner, but he turned the knob so hard it broke off in his hand. He hurled it against the wall and it bounced off and clattered across the metal floor. The Master grabbed the handrail that circled the console and roared with fury, pulling at it so hard the metal creaked. Under the floor, Amy bit into her fist and tasted blood. The Master's fury was terrifying and if he looked down at his feet, he would see her through the grid. But worse was the idea that the Doctor had gone. Tears streamed down the sides of her face and she bit her fist harder. It was taking all her willpower to stay silent.

Still gripping the rail, the Master closed his eyes and laughed. It was a harsh, maniacal laugh—the laugh of a man who feels he's been duped and who needs to laugh not to go insane.

'He did it,' said the Master to himself. 'He actually did it. He took the girl and left. He wasn't bluffing after all.'

Amy heard him step over and his shadow fell across her.

'Did you hear that, People of Earth?' called out the Master. 'The Doctor has gone! He's had enough of you at last! You've disappointed him one time too many! And so, in his honour, I am going to punish you for your unworthy, unnecessary smallness!'

The Master punched up his network on the computer. A map of North Holland appeared on screen filled with blue and red dots. He pressed a button and the red dots began to flash. It would be so easy—press the button one more time and plunge the Netherlands into an ocean of water and warfare.

Too easy. That was the problem. The Master looked at the network of little blue dots that represented weeks of painstaking preparation and work. If he simply blew it up, it would have been for nothing. All right, without the Doctor, it was like a meal without flavour, but that's no excuse not to see if he would have been right. The Master was not a quitter; he would finish what he started. Take this place apart piece by piece, just as he had planned.

The Master reset his network and got the blue lights flashing. It didn't take him long to begin the flooding process—the rural Dutch would have an unpleasant surprise by morning. His TARDIS clock showed local time to be nearing eight—the Master could still make it to the mayor's dinner if he hurried. He reached for the mayor's document and glanced through the list of ship's names. The Master hadn't done his homework, but during a trip to the 21st century he had downloaded several Dutch history books onto a pocket computer the size of a cellphone. He put on his black jacket and slipped the computer into the inside pocket.

The Master took one last look around his TARDIS. Was he forgetting anything? Oh yes. He reset his laser screwdriver and reactivated the ionic force shield. Yellow light crackled across half the console and faded. The Master turned, walked to the door, took his hat off the peg and stepped out. He locked his TARDIS and locked the office door on his way out.

It was almost dark and the staircase in the entrance hall was deserted. The main doors had been chained shut, but there was a side door which the Master used. As he stood outside locking it, a smell reached his nostrils.

'Please, sir,' said a voice. 'My dog hasn't eaten for two days.'

The Master looked at the beggar and his skinny dog. He put his hand in his pocket and the beggar smiled. He was still smiling when the compression field hit him and reduced him to a small, twisted corpse that gently steamed. The dog sniffed at it.

'Bon appétite,' said the Master and walked off into the night.

In the gloom of the Master's office, all was still and peaceful. But if anyone had gone up to the tall cupboard and pressed their ear to the door, they would have heard a faint, regular clang—as though someone were kicking at a large piece of metal.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Cornelis sat in the dark corner of the coffee shop and pulled the brim of his hat further down over his eyes, trying to look anonymous. It was a bit unnecessary because all the patrons were doing the same thing. Coffee beans boiled in a small pan created a drink that was supposed to give 'intense stimulations' and the fathers of the Church had already voiced their disapproval. This of course had the effect of making coffee incredibly popular and in Amsterdam secret coffee shops sprang into being like mushrooms in dark places. Where Cornelis now sat was essentially a basement room crammed with as many benches and chairs as the owner could fit in.

The Doctor came tripping down the steps, looking around like a child in a toyshop. 'This is splendidly seedy!' he said to Cornelis as he plonked himself behind the barrel that served as a makeshift table. Cornelis glanced around, not knowing what to say. What _do_ you say to someone who disappeared right in front of you less than half an hour ago?

'Were you followed?' Cornelis said finally.

'I hope not,' said the Doctor, glancing at the door. 'But that girl was persistent! You wouldn't believe what she promised if I'd take her with me! What is it about the TARDIS that does that to women?'

'I was thinking about the soldiers, actually.'

'Oh, them!' The Doctor gave Cornelis a slap on the arm. 'Don't worry! I've hidden the magic box in a place where even the Master can't find it.'

Cornelis looked into the little tin cup of coffee he had bought.

'Why do you call him that?' he said. 'The dijkgraaf, I mean. Why do you call him "The Master"?'

'It's the name he's given himself,' said the Doctor. 'The conceit of a man who feels he's outgrown his real name. Which is a bit rich coming from a man who calls himself "The Doctor".'

'You know each other?'

'Oh, yes, we have quite a history. No pun intended.' The Doctor's face was in shadow and suddenly Cornelis had the impression of an ancient face beneath the mass of hair. 'Long story short,' said the Doctor. 'The Master and I were once friends. Then one day he made some choices that I found unacceptable … and we became enemies.'

'What "choices"?'

'It's a long story, Cornelis, and now is not the time. What is important right now is to separate the Master from his own TARDIS.'

'TARDIS being the real name for a magic box?'

'Yes. And I believe Amy is hiding in his. I need to get inside it, Cornelis.'

Cornelis nodded. The Doctor rose and went to get himself a coffee. Cornelis finished his own and held the tin cup so that he saw the faint light reflected in the bottom. Maybe even the shape of his own reflection.

'Penny for your thoughts?' said the Doctor, sitting back down.

'I think it's just beginning to dawn on me,' said the Dutchman without looking up, 'that by helping you, I've also made myself an enemy of the Master.'

'Yes, I would have to agree. I usually offer some kind of way out, but in your case I think it's already too late. The Master is not very big on forgiveness.'

'I know, Doctor.'

'What I _can_ offer, however, is a second cup of coffee!' The Doctor put a tin cup on the barrel-top in front of him. Cornelis looked at it.

'I thought you said you had no "Earth money"?' he said.

'Oh, I don't!' said the Doctor, wincing. 'Sorry.'

Cornelis shook his head and drank it anyway. The Doctor drank his own, pulled a face and muttered something about 'espresso machines,' but it seemed to fortify Cornelis. Over coffee, he told the Doctor what he knew about the mayor inviting the Master to the shareholder's dinner at his house that evening.

'Do you know where the mayor lives?' asked the Doctor.

'Of course.'

'Right then: You and I will go and keep an eye on his house from a distance. If the Master shows up, we know we'll have a couple of hours to get into his TARDIS.'

'And if he doesn't show up?'

'Then we think of something else. Come on!'

As they made their way through the canal belt of Amsterdam, Cornelis persuaded the Doctor to wear his own black jacket and wide-brimmed hat. 'You put on quite a show, Doctor,' said Cornelis. 'We don't want you to be recognised. And maybe take off that butterfly thing?'

'My bow tie?' said the Doctor, incredulous. 'You want me to take off my bow tie?'

But Cornelis was so nervous that the Doctor reluctantly agreed. As he pocketed the tie, the Doctor looked up at the sky. It was going to be dark soon—maybe then he'd put it back on. It felt weird not to wear it.

The mayor's house was at one end of the Herengracht—the 'Gentleman's Canal'—and it competed with its neighbours in grandeur and style. Light grey granite steps led up to a huge white door surrounded by marble. The house itself was light grey and white and in place of a gable before the roof, there was the statue of a white ox—symbol of the family 'Van Os.'

'A fat bull,' said the Master to himself when he arrived. 'How appropriate for the mayor.'

By this time it was completely dark and there were two flaming torches marking the entrance to the house. The windows also shone from within with the lights of chandeliers and candelabra. The Master climbed the steps and pulled the chain that rang the bell. After a few moments, a manservant dressed in black opened the door.

'Dirk van Duivel, the dijkgraaf,' said the Master. He held up the rolled document. 'I have something for the mayor.'

'Would you wait there, sir?' said the manservant and he went into the house. A few moments later, the mayor himself appeared. He was wearing a black velvet coat with a blue sash and the golden chain of office had been polished and reflected the firelight. But his face looked redder too.

'You have a damn nerve,' said the mayor.

'I wasn't at my best this afternoon,' said the Master. 'You caught me in the middle of something.'

'Oh, I hadn't noticed.' The mayor looked out to the canal, his eyes glinting as they caught the light of the torches. 'And what's this I hear about you ordering soldiers to guard a box that then disappears?'

'I heard it was stolen. I suspect Captain Smit is trying to cover himself by making up some wild story.'

'I'll ask him. When I can find him.' The mayor looked back at the Master. 'I'm not used to having doors shut in my face, you know,' said the mayor. 'Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't return the favour?'

The Master held up the rolled document.

'Two of these ships will be wrecked,' said the Master. 'A third will be captured and sunk by the English and a fourth will lose half its crew to yellow fever and have to hole up on the coast of Africa.'

The mayor snatched the document out of the Master's hand. He looked at the roll of paper as though it might infect him. Slowly, he turned back to the Master.

'Damn you,' said the mayor.

He shook his head and stepped aside, inviting the Master in. Smiling, the Master stepped into the house and the door closed. In the shadows on the other side of the canal, two figures came out of their hiding place and began to hurry along the street.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

In the corner of the dijkgraaf's office Amy Pond sat hugging her knees, her head leaning against a wall. She was thirsty. She was hungry. And she was exhausted. The room was dark with only the faintest of moonlight spilling in through the window, but Amy's eyes had adjusted and she could make out the tall shape of the cupboard in the corner.

The door to the cupboard was open—it was part of her plan. The Master would unlock the office door, see his TARDIS door open, rush inside to check and Amy would make a run for it. The plan wasn't perfect. If the Master spotted Amy behind the shelving unit, she was dead. If he relocked the office door, she was dead. If he didn't go straight inside his TARDIS, she was dead. But she wasn't going under that floor again. It had taken all her strength to shift the metal floor section from below so she could crawl out. She wouldn't be able to do that a second time.

Amy sat up. Was that voices she heard? She wasn't sure. Then she heard the sound of a key in the lock. She crept over to the shelving unit and braced herself, her breathing quick. Any second now that door would open. Any second now. Any second now. Any second now.

Amy looked out from her hiding place. The key was still rattling away. So either the Master was drunk or someone was trying to pick the lock.

'Ha!'

There was a loud click and the door opened. The yellow light of a lantern spilled in through the doorway and a figure wearing a long coat and wide brimmed hat skipped in. Amy almost sobbed with relief.

'Doctor! It's you!'

'Hello, Amy Pond!' said the Doctor, waving. Cornelis was carrying the lantern and the Doctor went straight across to the tall cupboard, opening both doors to look in. 'Hologram projections!' he said in delight. 'Now _that's _a good idea! Amelia Pond, you are magnificent! Magnificent!' And the Doctor disappeared through the back wall into the Master's TARDIS.

Amy's joy and relief had been replaced with a kind of shock. Had the Doctor just gone into that TARDIS without seeing if she was all right? Without even _asking? _She went across to Cornelis who stood lantern in hand with a similar expression of shock on his face.

'He's unbelievable!' said Amy.

'Yes,' agreed Cornelis. 'He can actually walk through walls.'

Amy rolled her eyes. Cornelis starting burbling on about a disappearing box and a girl. Amy continued rubbing her eyes and then stopped when the word 'girl' registered in her brain. From the open cupboard there came a distant shout:

'Are you two coming in or what?'

Cornelis looked at Amy in near panic. Amy took the lantern from his hand, put it on the desk and led him to the open doors of the cupboard by his arm. 'It's safe,' she said, 'but weird. Brace yourself.' And she stepped through with Cornelis.

The Doctor had taken off the coat and the hat and was standing by the console. He had a tool in his hand and he was tapping the controls with it, sending yellow sparks into the air. Amy was alarmed.

'Doctor, be careful! That's…'

'…an ionic force shield. I know.' The Doctor sent another spark fizzing into the air. 'I want to see how far it extends. Oh, and get Cornelis to have a look at what's on the computer screen. I think there's…'

'Doctor!' shouted Amy. 'Would you give him a chance to adjust?!'

Cornelis stood with his eyes and mouth wide open staring around at the cavern-like dome of the TARDIS. The greenish light made it difficult to tell what colour his face was, but it was a lot paler than normal. He looked unsteady on his feet and his thin chest was heaving. Amy was worried that he might be sick.

The Doctor walked down the sloping floor and put his hands on Cornelis's shoulders. Cornelis had the face and lines of a middle aged man, but right now he looked like a lost little boy and the Doctor, despite his unlined face and boyish hair, like a wise old man.

'Cornelis, have you ever had a dream that you thought was real?'

'Not that I can remember,' said Cornelis.

'Well, imagine that this is a dream,' said the Doctor gently. 'A dream where a box is in fact a giant ship sailing the seas of Time and Space, piloted by strangers from the stars. And in this dream, you are going to help me stop the Master.'

'But…'

'Don't try and _force_ yourself to believe. Give your mind a chance to catch up with your senses. You don't have to believe anything until you're ready and until you are—just tell yourself you're dreaming. All right?'

Cornelis looked down and nodded. He even gave the Doctor a weak smile. Amy hadn't seen Cornelis smile since she met him. The Doctor could have that effect on people. Watching how he dealt with the Dutchman, Amy felt her own anger begin to melt and she wasn't quite ready to give it up.

'Where's your bow tie?' she said in a clipped voice.

'In my pocket,' said the Doctor, not looking at her.

'And what's that in your hand?'

'A screwdriver.'

'But it's normal! Where's your sonic one?'

'In my TARDIS. Amy, can we leave the interrogation for a more appropriate time?'

'Oh, so there's an appropriate time for interrogations, is there?'

'Yes,' said the Doctor, finally turning to look at her. 'Like when people aren't dying.'

Amy blinked. The Doctor had a way of looking at her as though she were complaining about her hair while a city burned.

'I'm sorry, Doctor,' said Amy. 'Let's stop it, shall we?'

'Working on it,' said the Doctor. 'This way, both of you.' He turned and walked back to the console. Amy and Cornelis exchanged glances and followed. The Doctor stood looking at the computer screen, tapping his chin with the handle of the screwdriver.

'That's North Holland,' said Cornelis, pointing. 'And those blue lights—they're windmills! I recognise the pattern.'

'They're the windmills' locations all right,' said the Doctor. 'But I think we're looking at _these._'

He went over to the row of crates and took out an LVD. He tossed it over to Amy. Cornelis looked at it, frowning.

'What is it?' said Amy.

'A water pump,' said the Doctor. 'One of those things could pump the same amount of water as ten windmills.'

'That's incredible!' said Cornelis.

'Well … not when it's from the year 2250.'

'How can you know that?' said Amy.

'The year's stamped on the base. Anyway…' The Doctor went up to the computer screen. 'The Master has installed the pumps at these locations and is controlling the network from here.'

'Do you mean that one man controls the water levels for the entire country?' said Cornelis.

'Yes,' said the Doctor. 'And what's really scary is that you Dutch will be doing the exact same thing in 2250.'

He and Amy exchanged a look.

'Still,' said the Doctor, 'we have more urgent worries. The Master has switched on the pumps and they're slowly flooding the country.'

'Can't you stop them?' said Amy.

'If I attempt to switch them off, I believe I will set off a booby trap. Do you see those red dots?'

'I was afraid you'd bring them up. Are they bombs, by any chance?'

'Cornelis?' said the Doctor, privately relieved that the word 'bomb' didn't exist yet. Cornelis peered at the screen.

'Those are dykes,' he said, indicating with his finger. 'And those red lights are on the weak points; the places where the dyke is most vulnerable to water pressure.'

'They're bombs,' said Amy.

'Explosives,' said the Doctor to Cornelis, by way of explanation. Cornelis looked horrified.

'Doctor, if those dykes are breached, the country will be underwater in a matter of _minutes!_' he said.

'I know,' said the Doctor, patting his arm. 'I know.'

Amy had been working something out for herself and, when she turned to the Doctor, there was a slightly unhinged look in her eyes.

'So let me get this straight, Doctor,' she said. 'Even though we are standing in the Master's TARDIS, you're not actually able to _do_ anything?'

'If you mean sabotage, not really,' said the Doctor. He laughed at a private joke to himself. 'You know, the Master stole my TARDIS not so long ago, so he's clearly working on the basis of preventing me from doing what he would do in my place. I mean, who installs an ionic force shield?'

'So, basically, I risked my life for nothing!' cried Amy. 'Not to mention being stuck under that floor! For _hours!_'

'It wasn't for nothing,' said the Doctor. 'There's plenty we can do!'

'Like what?' Amy was close to tears. 'You can't switch anything off!'

'Maybe not. But I know who can.'

Amy and Cornelis voiced the question at the same moment: 'Who?'

'Isn't it obvious?' said the Doctor. 'We get the Master to do it.'


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Amy stood alone in the dark TARDIS, her foot tapping the metal floor. Her arms were tightly folded across her chest and her back was turned on the ice box. The Doctor was outside explaining to Cornelis what he wanted him to do. It seemed to be taking an age. Even so, she jumped slightly when the Doctor came tramping back in.

'All right, Cornelis is on his way to the mayor's house,' said the Doctor. 'So we have maybe half an hour before the Master gets here.'

'How do you know the Master won't kill him?' said Amy.

'Cornelis should be all right.' The Doctor glanced at the ice box as he walked past it. 'I gave him some guidelines.'

'Guidelines?' Amy was incredulous. 'You maybe send a man to his death with nothing but guidelines?'

'Can we pretend I already know that?' snapped the Doctor. He ducked under the console computer, trying to look at the wiring through the metal floor grid. Amy got the feeling he was keeping himself busy.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'How can I help?'

'Think of a way to get the Master to switch off his ionic force shield.'

Amy shrugged. 'Say please? Wait, I know! We knock him out and take his screwdriver thing!'

'And what's the frequency key? Getting it wrong would be fatal.'

'We make him tell us!'

'Is this before or after we knock him out?'

'Look, I don't know!' said Amy. 'You come up with something then!'

The Doctor sprang to his feet and stared at the console. He took the bow tie from his pocket and started tying it around his neck.

'If the Master switches off the force shield, I can pilot the TARDIS out of this century.' Under the Doctor's chin, one end of the tie flipped over the other. 'That would break the signal to the water pumps and they would all go on stand-by. The flooding would stop.'

'But wouldn't that set off the bombs?'

'Yes, it would. Unless…' The Doctor finished tying his bow tie. He gave it a final tweak, then a pat. 'Is it on straight?' he said.

'Unless _what?_' Amy almost shrieked.

'Unless the Master has been _too_ clever!' The Doctor took out his little screwdriver and waggled it at the screen. 'Any trap set on a computer, no matter how clever, can always be hacked into. There's always that chance.'

'Right…'

'So how can you make that impossible? How can you set a trap that _cannot_ be hacked into, even by a computer genius?'

'By … not putting the trap onto the computer?'

'Exactly!'

Amy was still confused. She had made a guess and the fact that the Doctor found it a good one did nothing to enlighten her. He went around to the other side of the console and held up the screwdriver.

'Watch the screen, Amy,' he said. 'And tell me what you see.'

Amy focused on the screen. The Doctor tapped a control on the console, sending up a fizzing yellow spark.

'The red lights flickered!' said Amy. 'They sort of jumped.'

'I thought they might,' said the Doctor, shaking his head in admiration. 'You can't deactivate the bombs by hacking into the computer because the deactivation command is not _in_ the computer. It's connected to…'

'…the ionic force shield,' said Amy in realisation.

'And that means,' said the Doctor. 'If you switch off the shield, you automatically…'

'…switch off the bombs!' cried Amy.

'Yes!'

The Doctor laughed and Amy jumped into his arms, whooping and clapping. Then, suddenly, she stopped, her face aghast.

'Wait a minute!' she said. 'That means the only possible way to deactivate the bombs _and_ the pumps is if the Master himself does it!'

'Yes! He's quite brilliant, isn't he?'

'But how does that help _us?_'

'Working on it, Amy!' said the Doctor. 'Working on it..!'

In the dining room of the mayor's house, servants were clearing away the plates from the main course while rich diners drank red wine and patted their bellies. The mayor sat at the head of a long table decked with cut bread on metal plates and brown ceramic pots of mustard and horseradish sauce with silver spoons sticking out. Much of that sauce was on the tablecloth and adorning the waistcoats of the more enthusiastic guests.

The Master sat amid the belching and the bragging like a cat in a pig sty. He was easily the thinnest man there and had hardly touched the overcooked lamb the rest of them had stuffed themselves with. What did the Doctor ever see in these primitive, greedy apes?

The manservant came in and went over to the mayor—one of the few whose waistcoat was still clean, the Master noted. The mayor seemed puzzled and annoyed by what the manservant was saying, but eventually he gave an irritated nod. As the manservant left the room, the mayor saw he was being observed and pointed a podgy finger at the Master.

'This is _your_ fault, you know!' said the mayor.

What now? thought the Master and he stared at a candle flame and fantasized about the torments he would inflict on these morons before he dispatched them. Then Cornelis entered the room and the Master's mood changed completely.

Cornelis stood, awkward but determined, waiting for permission to speak. The diners began to quieten, more from curiosity than politeness. A couple of them thought he was the entertainment and twisted in their chairs to get a good look.

'Lord Mayor,' said Cornelis, nodding. 'Gentlemen. Master.'

The Master stared back, unsmiling, his fingers tapping the tabletop.

'Who is he?' said one of the diners, waving his wine glass at Cornelis.

'He's my secretary,' said the Master.

'Oh.'

Several diners lost interest and began talking amongst themselves. Cornelis looked at the Master and swallowed nervously.

'Out with it, man!' said the mayor to Cornelis. 'What's this message that's so important you have to give it to your master in _our_ presence?'

The Master laughed. The mayor gave him an annoyed look, but the Master ignored him.

'Oh, Cornelis,' said the Master. 'Do you really think this audience of fools would stop me from killing you if I wanted to?'

The talk died down to a near silence. Some were insulted; others wondered what kind of message could provoke such a nasty joke at the expense of the messenger. The mayor became alert and watchful. Cornelis took a letter from his jacket pocket and put it on the table in front of the Master.

'The Doctor has returned,' said Cornelis. 'And he asked me to give you that.'

The Master picked up the letter and opened it. It was clearly not a long letter, but by the time he finished reading it, the Master was on his feet, his face a mask of fury.

'All this suspense over a note from his doctor?' said a fat diner to his neighbour. 'I was expecting something more dramatic!'

'Like this?' said the Master.

He drew his laser screwdriver, pointed it at a random guest and fired. The man screamed, bones cracking, as he was crushed into a twisted, dried up doll. The Master ended with a flourish of his silver wand and leapt onto the table, sending plates and glasses tumbling. He kicked off a floral decoration he had been hating all evening and then crouched before the fat diner, drawing slow circles in the air with his laser screwdriver.

'Was that dramatic enough, you disgusting fat pig?'

Everyone in the room was suddenly sober. Nobody moved. Nobody said a word. The Master spent a moment contemplating the dribbling terror of the fat diner, then stood and surveyed the lot of them from his vantage point on the table. Their red-cheeked faces were now white, their eyes wide and pleading, all of their arrogant bluster gone. The Master lived for moments like this. Only the mayor seemed to retain some of his character—he looked furious. Go on, thought the Master, say something defiant. Give me an excuse to kill someone else. But the mayor seemed to know this and he kept quiet.

The Master jumped off the table, his boots thumping on the wooden floor. He went to Cornelis and held up the letter.

'You'd better hope the Doctor's end game is up to scratch,' said the Master. 'Because if I win this, I'm going to make a point of coming back for you.'

He tapped Cornelis on the nose with the letter, went to the door, opened it and then turned to the terrified manservant who stood holding a tray.

'I'm done here,' said the Master. 'You can serve the next course now.'

And he left, whistling. Not a single man moved—the only sounds were the Master's footsteps on the stairs followed by the slam of the front door.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

The Master crossed a bridge and walked along a dark street, his steps echoing off the tall houses that loomed over him. His laser screwdriver was in his hand and he half hoped someone would jump out with a knife and try to rob him. He felt the Doctor's letter in his jacket pocket and, despite only one reading, the words had burned themselves into his memory.

'_To my dear Play Mate,_

_I have captured your Rook. Checkmate in two moves._

_However, you can have it back on the following conditions:_

_1. You resign the game immediately._

_2. You must ask me nicely._

_Your winning friend, The Doctor_

_P.S. If any harm comes to my messenger, the deal is off. I'll know if you've done anything.'_

The end of the street opened out onto Dam Square. It was deserted, the bulky town hall a brooding presence in the darkness. The Master headed for the main entrance, pocketing the screwdriver and pulling out a ring of keys. The main doors were chained shut, but a little way along was a side door that also led into the entrance hall, albeit more discreetly. The Master unlocked it and went in. He crossed the hall and quickly climbed the staircase. As he walked along the corridor he singled out the key to his office, but on approaching saw that the door was standing open, a sliver of yellow light slicing across the floor. He pocketed the keys, walked up to the door and opened it.

'Oh, Doctor…' he said as he stood in the doorway and looked in.

In the corner of the room, exactly where the tall cupboard had been, stood the unmistakable shape of the Doctor's blue police telephone box. So that's what the Doctor had meant by 'captured your Rook,' thought the Master. He couldn't get into his TARDIS without going through the Doctor's first, but that was hardly 'checkmate.' Unless…

The Master went up to the police box and touched it. No, it wasn't a hologram—this was a TARDIS, all right. He could feel the wood under his hands.

'Your TARDIS is inside,' said a voice.

The Master turned. There was a lantern on his desk and sitting within its circle of light was the girl with the red hair he had first met in his TARDIS. There was also an empty chair placed nearby as though she were waiting for a chat over a cup of tea. Was that chair for him? Something felt wrong.

'No,' said the Master, shaking his head. 'The Doctor would never leave me with a hostage.'

'I'm not a hostage,' said the girl. 'I'm here to negotiate for my people.'

'Your people? The Dutch?'

'They're my species! Human beings are not just chess pieces for the Time Lords! And that goes for you too, Doctor!'

That last sentence had been aimed at the TARDIS. The Master looked at it, then back to the girl.

'He's watching us on the TARDIS monitor?' he said. The girl looked caught out and the Master shook his head. 'You'd make a useless poker player,' he said.

The Master shrugged off his long black jacket and flung it over the empty chair, knocking it over. With his black waistcoat and flowing white sleeves, he looked a bit like a poker player himself. Moving almost lazily, he grabbed the girl by her upper arm and forced her out of the chair.

'I'm disappointed in you, Doctor!' said the Master as he made her stand before the TARDIS. 'You must have known what I would do if you left your little friend alone with me?'

'I have a name!' cried the girl angrily. 'Amy Pond!'

The Master's cat-like eyes looked sideways at her with contempt. 'I'll make sure your headstone has the correct spelling,' he said and he stepped back and drew his laser screwdriver. He glanced over at the TARDIS. 'Is this all right for you, Doctor? Not blocking your view, am I?'

'If you kill me,' said Amy, talking fast, 'the Doctor will leave and take your TARDIS with him.'

'Is that what he told you, Amy Pond?'

'Yes and something else: He told me to say that he's broken the Dimension Lock.'

The Master laughed. He seemed to find it genuinely funny and when he looked at Amy, there was a predatory gleam in his eyes.

'What's so funny?' she said.

'He lied to you, Amy Pond,' said the Master with a smile. 'The Doctor lied to you.'

'No. He wouldn't do that.'

'Amy Pond, do you know what a Dimension Lock _is?_'

Amy felt a sudden misgiving. She shook her head and, to her alarm, the Master came right up to her. He put his hand gently on the back of her neck which was somehow worse than being grabbed by the arm.

'Let me explain, Amy Pond,' said the Master in a quiet, intimate voice. 'My TARDIS is at a fixed point in Time and Space—locked into this dimension, as it were. So if the Doctor leaves, his TARDIS will simply dematerialise and leave my TARDIS behind. A Dimension Lock cannot be broken. I've tried it myself and it's impossible.'

'Yeah, well you're not the Doctor, are you?'

The Master's hand closed in on her hair and Amy gasped in pain. Then he let her go, stepping backwards and wiping his hand on his trouser leg.

'Have it your way, Amy Pond,' he said. Then he turned towards the TARDIS. 'Doctor! If you want my TARDIS, go ahead—take it! If you've really broken the Dimension Lock, you deserve to have it. But if you want your little friend back alive, you need to come out of that TARDIS now!'

The Master held up his laser screwdriver, twisting it with his thumb. It made a nasty little whine and the tip glowed yellow. Amy stared at it and backed away slowly.

'I'm going to count to three,' said the Master.

Amy's back touched the wall. There was nowhere left to go.

'One.'

The Master's hand slowly came down until all Amy could see of the screwdriver was the glowing yellow tip pointing at her.

'Two.'

The Master turned to look at Amy. In the yellow lantern light, his face was a feral mask of hatred; the mouth cruel, the eyes black and pitiless. One side of his mouth twisted into a sneer.

'Three.'


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

'He's not in there!' cried Amy, terrified. 'There's nobody watching this on the monitor! It's a trick!'

She burst into tears and slid to the floor.

'I'm sorry, Doctor,' she sobbed. 'I'm sorry. But I don't want to die.'

The Master lowered the laser screwdriver. He stared at the girl and then looked at the TARDIS. Of course, he thought, the Doctor he knew would never stand by and watch someone die. But he would gamble with other people's lives. He wasn't above that.

'Where is he?' said the Master. 'And what's this trick?'

Amy was hugging her legs, her head buried between her knees. The Master went down to her, pulling up her chin and making sure she could see the glowing yellow tip of the laser screwdriver.

'You had better start giving me reasons to keep you alive,' he said.

'I wanted to wait for you to come back and knock you out,' said Amy. 'But the Doctor thought it was too risky. He said you had too much influence with the people here; that we needed them on _our_ side. So…'

'So he writes a letter designed to provoke me,' said the Master. 'And he tells Cornelis to give it to me in front of the mayor and his cronies. The Doctor knew I would have nothing but contempt for them. He used my contempt for humans to manipulate me.'

The Master rose, his face showing something close to admiration.

'Of course!' he said. 'That's why he wrote: "I'll know if you've done anything." I'll bet the Doctor was hiding outside when Cornelis delivered that letter. Then after I'm gone, he talks the mayor into having me arrested and, meanwhile, he tells you to keep me talking; to distract me so that I don't get inside my TARDIS before the soldiers arrive.'

'But why?' said Amy miserably. 'I mean, you can't get in anyway. Why do I have to be here to keep you talking?'

'Trans-dimensional reversal,' said the Master.

'What?'

'If he's not in his TARDIS, he can't stop me.' The Master held up his laser screwdriver and adjusted the setting. 'You know, Amy Pond, the Doctor is getting increasingly devious in his old age.'

Amy slowly got to her feet. The Master was in a good mood, almost jovial. She didn't take her eyes off him.

'You don't understand what's going on, do you?' he said. He was feeling magnanimous and he went on. 'The Doctor's TARDIS and mine are in the same position in Space and Time but, because he arrived at a later point, his TARDIS is on the outside. However, if my TARDIS dematerialises and then re-materialises on the same spot, our positions will be reversed—Trans-dimensional reversal—ergo: His TARDIS will be inside _mine._'

'Oh, no…' said Amy.

'I'm afraid, yes,' said the Master and with a flourish he pointed his laser screwdriver at the TARDIS and pressed the switch. The tip shone with a yellow light and a high pitched whooshing sound filled the room. There was a mechanical 'BOOM' from within the blue box and then the familiar groaning sound of a TARDIS engine began to build. Amy backed into the table while the Master looked on, his face glowing with triumph.

Inside the Master's TARDIS, the ionic force shield had vanished in a flash of rippling gold lightning and the engines began dematerialisation. It reached the zero point and was about to reverse the process when a pair of hands intercepted, flicking off coordinate switches and redirecting the navigation systems. 'Good girl,' said the Doctor quietly as he steered the TARDIS into the Time Vortex. 'Good girl.'

In the office, the Master's expression had gone from glowing triumph to utter bewilderment. The TARDIS had disappeared and the Master was staring at an empty room, his mouth hanging open like an atheist in front of an angel.

'But that's impossible,' he said. 'That's impossible!'

Behind him, Amy placed an object on the desk, a silver conical device about the size of a salt shaker. She was composed, her face carefully neutral, neither tearful nor taunting. She touched a switch and a small green light flickered on.

'Hello! Testing? Testing? One, two, one, two … yes! It's recording!'

The voice was tinny, a fuzz of static in the background, but its identity was unmistakeable. The Master slowly turned towards the source, his face aghast. Hovering over the silver cone was a hologram of the Doctor. He was about the same size as one of the Master's victims, but very much alive and slightly transparent.

'Hello there!' said the tiny Doctor with a wave. 'I borrowed the hologram projector you put over the door. Hope you don't mind. Can't talk to you in person—for obvious reasons. If you're watching this it means I've managed to snaffle your TARDIS! Do you want to know how I did it?'

The Master had gone up to the hologram, shoulders hunched, like a cat circling a canary, wanting to kill it but unable to touch it. Wherever he moved, the Doctor was facing him.

'Well,' said the Doctor. 'Firstly, it _is_ impossible to break a Dimension Lock. I just told Amy to say that. The fact is: There was only ever one TARDIS there—_your _TARDIS. The ionic force shield didn't extend to the chameleon circuit, so with a bit of fiddly-diddly I made it _look_ like my TARDIS.'

The tiny Doctor shook his head, smiling.

'I must confess, I was rather nervous about that,' he said. 'You had the key in your pocket—you could have simply opened the door any time you liked. Still, if you're watching this then that probably didn't occur to you, did it?'

The Master sank into the chair. His head was in his hands and his face, although lit with yellow light, had taken on a yellow hue of its own. He looked sick. But the Doctor's next words made him look up sharply.

'Now, do you want to know what I'm going to do with it?'

The Doctor's smile had gone and the twinkle in his eyes was replaced with the glint of steel. The Master felt a cold, clutching sensation in his gut and realised with a dull surprise that it was fear.

'I'm going to land your TARDIS sometime in the future,' said the Doctor. 'That's where my TARDIS is, by the way, in case you wondered. I'm not going to tell you when, of course, but I will tell you where: In the Netherlands, below sea level. So if you still carry out your threat to 'flood the country,' your TARDIS will materialise at the bottom of a lake.'

The Master glared at the tiny figure, his teeth bared in fury. He had never hated the Doctor so much.

'Here's the deal: I will be checking in on this planet from time to time and if everything is as it should be, I'll leave your TARDIS in plain sight for you to find. I give you my word. But if you cause any further harm to this planet or its people—you won't see your TARDIS again in a million years.'

The Doctor sniffed and tapped his chin as though trying to remember something.

'Oh, yes,' he said. 'Just one more thing: Queen takes Rook—Checkmate.'

The hologram image flickered and vanished. The Master blinked and looked around the room. He was alone.

The Doctor's little friend had gone.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

By day, the main hall had been alive with civil servants rushing across the floor and up and down the great staircase. This made the contrast to night all the more stark—the open space took on a brooding character in the darkness. The pillars and statues were like stalagmites in a cavern, the chandeliers like shadowy giant's heads hanging from the ceiling and every sound seemed to echo in the sinister emptiness.

'AMY PO-O-OND!'

Amy was racing down the staircase when she heard the Master's shriek of rage. How she now regretted giving him her name! She reached the bottom and tore across the hallway, slamming against the main doors. To her horror, they were chained shut. She ran along the wall and came to a side door. She pulled at it desperately, but it too was locked. Wait a minute, weren't there doors on both sides of the main entrance?

The Master appeared at the top of the staircase, skidding to a halt. He saw Amy almost immediately and took aim. Amy threw herself to one side and a statue cracked then shattered as it was hit by the compression field. Bits of stone rained onto her head and back as she scrambled across the tiled floor and slid behind a marble pillar.

Behind the pillar, Amy heard footsteps and knew that the Master was on his way down the stairs. He would be there in seconds. There was another pillar on the other side of the main entrance. Could she make it? Amy broke cover.

The Master had expected this and was ready to fire as she ran across. Except she didn't run across—she ran straight to the main doors, offering him an easy shot. She tugged uselessly at the chains, fully exposed if he wanted to kill her. The Master rolled his eyes.

'It's locked, you stupid girl!' he called out from halfway down the stairs.

Amy muttered under her breath 'I know' and made a sudden sprint to the side. The Master tried to aim, but that extra second meant the pillar now blocked it. The girl was heading to the door through which the Master had entered the building—a door he had himself unlocked.

'No!' he cried.

The Master bounded down the stairs as Amy raced for the door. He launched himself from the eighth step and for a moment he was flying. Then his boots hit the marble tiles with such force that they cracked, his arms flailing. He stumbled, caught himself and regained his balance just as Amy was reaching for the door handle. He aimed, fired and the doorframe cracked and buckled as the wood contracted, the iron rivets popping from the hinges as the door itself began to shrink. But the girl wasn't there.

Outside, Amy ran across the cobblestones of Dam Square, her chest ready to burst, despair pushing her to run harder. Dam Square was huge and open—at least two hundred metres to the nearest building. She would never make it. If only she hadn't chosen the wrong door. How stupid that running right instead of left had meant the difference between life and death.

'Doctor, where are you?' she cried out. 'You're supposed to be here!'

Then Amy heard the skidding of boots on the stones and she turned. The Master was standing by the arched doorway, his laser screwdriver pointing right at her.

'Goodbye, Amy Pond,' said the Master.

Then everything went black. He lurched forwards, landing on his face, the laser screwdriver flying from his hand and skittering on the cobblestones. Amy stared at the shadowy figure which had stepped out from behind an archway pillar and clubbed the Master over the head with a hard leather map tube.

'Cornelis?' she said.

The Dutchman was just about to reply when Amy heard the wheezing groan of a TARDIS engine from behind. As she turned, a wind picked up that blew her hair across her face. Cornelis came up beside her, both sets of eyes squinting at the flashing white light that grew brighter and brighter.

'The Doctor's magic box,' said Cornelis in awe.

And there on Dam Square at night appeared a blue police box. The door opened and the Doctor stuck his head out.

'Amy Pond!' he said, skipping out and going up to her. 'You were magnificent!'

'And you were _late!_' said Amy, slapping his arm. The Doctor looked hurt as Amy turned to the Dutchman. 'Cornelis, thank you!' she said, throwing her arms around him. 'My saviour!'

Cornelis didn't know where to put himself. On top of his 17th century reserve, he was also holding objects in both hands so he couldn't return the hug. He looked at the Doctor for help.

'Is that your map tube?' said the Doctor.

'Yes,' said Cornelis. 'It was still where I'd left it.'

'Told you we needed to knock the Master out!' said Amy, releasing Cornelis at last. 'Didn't know you could do it with a map tube though.'

'Well, it's treated leather,' said the Doctor. 'Hard as a cricket ball. Oh…'

He noticed the object in Cornelis's other hand—the Master's laser screwdriver. Amy lost some of her good humour when she saw it. Cornelis handed it over and the Doctor put it in his pocket.

'The Master's going to be arrested,' said Cornelis. 'He killed someone at the mayor's dinner this evening.'

The Doctor shook his head and rubbed his face tiredly. Then he looked over at the dark figure sprawled on the ground.

'I'm sorry,' said the Doctor.

Cornelis nodded solemnly, assuming the Doctor had meant the dead man. Amy, on the other hand, looked at the Doctor with suspicion.

'All right, we have to go!' said the Doctor, clapping his hands. 'Cornelis! It was a pleasure to know you!'

Cornelis looked bemused as the Doctor furiously shook his hand.

'But the mayor is organising soldiers,' said Cornelis. 'And we'll need your testimony!'

'Do you think anyone will believe in stories about magic boxes?' said the Doctor, waving at the TARDIS. 'Or believe that the Master and I are beings from another planet?'

'You are?' said Cornelis, his eyes huge.

'See what I mean?' said the Doctor. 'Better to say that the Master was a spy for the English. They'll believe that. Come on, Amy! We have some loose ends to tie up.'

'We do?' said Amy.

'Explosives in dykes? 23rd century water pumps? A spare TARDIS knocking around?'

'Okay, okay.'

The Doctor was already disappearing into the TARDIS. Amy turned to Cornelis and kissed him on the cheek. He looked surprised, but not altogether displeased.

'Goodbye, Miss Amy.'

'See you, Cornelis. Thanks for coming back.' Amy went to the TARDIS and then turned in the doorway. 'Oh! And keep listening at those doors!'

She went in and the door closed. Cornelis looked at the blue box and shook his head. 'After what happened last time?' he said to himself.

The TARDIS took off. Cornelis stood and watched as the light on the roof flashed, engines wheezing and groaning, and the whole box faded into the night air. He smiled. His face was alive and he stood taller than he had for a long time. Maybe this was all a dream after all, he thought. Or maybe he was just waking up.

The sound of soldiers marching brought him back to the present moment and Cornelis hurried off to attend to the business of his life.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

The landscape was flat like a giant green table and the sky was a brilliant blue with only the white trail of an aeroplane scratched onto it. Amy looked out through the TARDIS doorway at the blue police box that stood in a field a few metres away and shook her head.

'The Netherlands is still there,' she said in a raised voice.

'Thought it would be,' came the muffled reply.

Amy turned and walked up the metal ramp that led to the console. She still didn't like the greenish light of this TARDIS, but it no longer felt creepy. The absence of the ice box helped. She walked around the console to where the Doctor had removed a section of floor and was half buried in wiring. Amy looked down at him, wondering.

'You lied, didn't you?' she said.

'About what?' said the Doctor, adjusting the light strapped to his forehead.

'Loose ends. You tied them up before you came to collect me. The computer screen shows no pumps or explosives and that ice box didn't disappear by itself. What did you do with the … contents?'

'There's a churchyard in a village called Schermerhoorn. I laid them to rest there.'

Amy nodded. She leant against the console and folded her arms. The Doctor began fitting a panel back into place, sealing it with his sonic screwdriver.

'What are you doing?' said Amy.

'Restoring the chameleon circuit,' said the Doctor. 'It's only good manners to leave things as you find them.'

'So you're _really_ going to let the Master have his TARDIS back?'

'If he keeps his side of the bargain, yes.'

'What if he'd killed me?'

'But he didn't.' The Doctor looked up at Amy and smiled. 'You're still here.'

The Doctor clambered out and pulled the light strap off, stuffing it in his jacket pocket.

'Give me a hand with this floor, would you?'

Amy sighed and reluctantly helped the Doctor put the metal grid back in place. The Doctor went to the computer to do some checks. Amy was finding it difficult to look at him.

'I have a question,' she said. 'When you and Cornelis found me in the office, he started babbling on about a girl.'

'She was a decoy,' said the Doctor. 'I wanted to convince the Master that you were still with me.'

'Yeah, I figured that one out for myself, actually.'

'Oh. So what's your question?'

'What was her name?'

The Doctor froze, his finger poised over a switch. His eyes flicked up, across, back down. Then he looked at Amy. Amy glared back, her eyes dark with anger.

'I knew it,' she said. 'You and the Master really are from the same planet, aren't you?'

The Doctor looked puzzled. 'I'm not sure what kind of response you expect to that,' he said.

'Just admit you're playing favourites because he's a Time Lord! Forget that he's killed a whole bunch of people, that he would have killed _me_ and that you left him running around my planet doing God knows what! No, you want to make sure his TARDIS is ready! Be honest, Doctor, would you go to this trouble for a Dalek?'

'Amy, exile can change a man.'

'And what if it doesn't? What if the Master collects his TARDIS and picks up where he left off?'

'Then I will fight him to my dying breath.'

The Doctor spoke with quiet conviction. He looked at Amy as though daring her to doubt him. Then he resumed the console checks as though nothing had happened. Amy stared at him, her anger turning to sadness.

'Why does it have to come to that?' she said.

'Because the alternative is even worse,' said the Doctor, tapping a readout panel and frowning.

'What alternative?'

'For me to force the Master to choose only what I want him to choose. For me to decide what is Good and what is Evil and to impose my decision upon him. To reduce his life to a meaningless game where I decide what the rules are.'

'Sorry, Doctor, but … haven't you sort of done that already?'

The Doctor paused in his checks. Then, slowly, he nodded. 'Yes, Amy. I have indeed "sort of done that already." But there are limits. Everyone deserves the chance for redemption. Wouldn't you say?'

Amy didn't know what to say. She shrugged and folded her arms. The Doctor straightened up and sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

'I just need to activate the chameleon circuit and we're done,' he said. 'Are you ready to go back to our own TARDIS?'

'Oh yes.'

The Doctor went over to the computer and flicked a switch. His face brightened.

'Oho, you'll never guess what! This TARDIS has turned itself into a windmill!'

'A windmill?' said Amy. 'I thought we were back in the 21st century?'

'We are!'

The Doctor turned the power down and began hustling Amy towards the door. 'But how many windmills are left?' she protested. 'Aren't we making things a bit easy for the Master?'

'O ye of little faith!' said the Doctor. 'Behold!'

They stumbled out onto the grass and the Doctor turned to shut the door—a door which was now a white rectangle in a giant metal tube, smooth and white, that was slightly wider than the police box. And it was tall—it kept going upwards. Amy stepped back and realised that it stretched into the blue sky and at the top was fixed the three narrow blades of a wind turbine.

'It's one of those green energy windmills!' said Amy.

'Not just one,' said the Doctor. 'This is a Dutch wind farm.'

The Doctor and Amy were two tiny figures on a flat green landscape where hundreds of identical white wind turbines—row upon row of them—stretched away to the horizon. The blades turned in the wind and even from a distance you could just catch the sound of Amy's laughter.

**THE END**


End file.
